Don’t touch my stuff!

In his now regular guest post, my fiancé makes me sound like a crazy lady. Again.

I’m sure it happens in every household. Well, I’ll console myself with the thought that it happens in every household. Don’t you dare ruin it for me and tell me otherwise. That’s not what the comment section is for – I’ve been assured that the comment section is simply for agreeing fans. And back on topic…

When I left the apartment this morning, it looked like the one I was familiar with and had grown to love. An apartment that had everything I needed in it. A space I could call home. Over the last 12 hours I had grown accustomed to it. I developed a deep attachment. And then I came home.

Home to a different apartment. There were things that were the same, but there were also things that had changed. Furniture had been added (a new Jonathan Adler chair in the bedroom, if you’re asking), cushions had been stacked (damn cushions) and my stuff… it was… somewhere else.

Since Jen started working from home, every time I leave the apartment I know that I will come home to a new one. Each time something is different. Sometimes whole rooms have changed. But I’m used to it now. I know that I will grow to love it in the 12 hours I have until I leave again, never to see the apartment as it is ever again. But there is one thing that does bug me. My stuff disappears. It gets sucked into a black hole, vanishes in a vortex, is caught in the big bang. Something. But the one constant is that the stuff I had is now not where it should be.

Books I leave stacked by my bed, the Red Bull Racing cap I had on the coffee table (trust me, it looks good there), the towel I had on a chair, the laptop I left on the dining table. I’ve heard all the reasons. “You don’t put bloody caps on the coffee table.” Whatever. “The laptop has a home, and it’s not where we eat food.” Blah, blah. “The reason you have a bedside table is for your damn books!” Sure thing, fun police.

I started to develop some tricks to make sure what I left around would be around when I came back. Headphones – in a draw. Books – under the bed. Laptop – under a book… still on the dining table. Red Bull Racing cap – still on the coffee table. I still haven’t found a good place to hide that one.

But then I had an epiphany. It came to me in the form of GQ. Now, I know what I read is bible-type stuff. Hell, even I used to write for GQ. Hmmm, scrub that last bit, that is probably not going to help me win this argument.

I’ll cut to the chase. In the latest issue of US GQ, there was a picture of books on the floor of the bedroom and a towel on a chair. Game. Set. Match. If GQ says I can do it, I’m gonna do it.

Sorry, were you looking for a meaningful post? You’ll still be searching then. While you’re at it, see if you can find my cap. Thanks.