why I hate living alone.

When my little sister graduated and moved out, leaving me living alone for the first time, it felt like the most blissful thing imaginable. I could prostrate myself on the couch with dirty hair and no makeup without fear of my roomie having company over. For the most part I could go to sleep in my preferred state of blissful silence. Ceiling fans were permanently turned off, which meant that I was never chilly and never had dry contact lenses.

I've often wondered since then if I would ever be able to share a home with another person without major issue. It's been quite a while, and I am awfully used to having it my way. Are these throw pillows a little too girly? Eh, who cares. Should I paint the inside of this cabinet bright turquoise? Why not. Stash all of my pretty/fancy kitchen things in separate cabinets from my old/ugly things, even though it's completely impractical? What the heck, it's my kitchen anyway.

Those are the pros of living alone. Putting things wherever you wish. Leaving your home clean or dirty, depending on your mood. Temperature set just the way you like it, colors just as you selected them. But there are also, unfortunately, some major cons. I'd be lying if I said I'd never experienced that cliched moment of seeing a news story about some poor person choking to death in their lonely apartment and thinking "Oh crap....that could happen to me..." Every now and then I'd give my right arm to have someone else around the house to let Charlie out at lunch when I'm too busy. And finally, there is the ultimate con....there's no one else around to help you catch a mouse.

Yes. A mouse. In my bathroom. I'd like to think that I've actually made it pretty far in life before having to endure a face-off with a wild warm blooded creature in my space, and to tell the truth, this creature was pretty adorable... but that certainly didn't provide me with any assurance in the moment. In the moment I shrieked and cursed and jumped back as if I'd happened upon a viper. I had enough presence of mind to quickly block the mouse into a corner with items from the room, and then to curse my property manager and maintenance man for not sealing the gap underneath the bathroom vanity that just happens to back up to a crawlspace. And then, when the mouse apparently decided he'd rather live in the new habitat I'd created for him than crawl back from whence he came, I freaked out a little bit again. A cute mouse in a pet store is one thing. A cute mouse who may just happen to run across my toes while I'm brushing my teeth is quite another.

I picked up the phone and realized that I was going to have to choose one of two cliches....either call my boyfriend and interrupt his card game with a ridiculously girly problem...or call my daddy and provide him with further proof that his 30 year old daughter still can't take care of herself. Having pestered Ben enough for one week (and having at least a little respect for the sanctity of guys' card night), I went with Option B. My dad only jokingly asked if perhaps it was someone's pet and then told me it wouldn't bite and to grab a shoebox. Great.

In the end I armed myself with a tupperware bowl and an issue of Marie Claire, took a deep breath, and then removed a section of the barricade and nudged the mouse through it with a plunger. One loud curse, a clap of tupperware against the floor, several scampering steps outside, and one mouse flying off into the thick pile of leafy underbrush across from my apartment later, the rodent problem was solved. Well, after all of that and a few minutes spent stuffing the open space with old washcloths.

You'd think that in the end I'd feel confident, proud, content. As if I'd single-handedly managed to cross one big Con out on my Living Alone list. I didn't feel that great, though. Not at all. A little proud of myself, sure, but when I texted Ben about what I'd done and remarked that I'd be glad when he was around to catch the mice, he texted back that better yet, he'd make sure all the walls and spaces were sealed so that I'd never have to find them. And that just made me even more sick of living alone than I was to begin with.