It’s extraordinarily difficult for me to decorate our apartment. I’m just simply incapable of making it look like two responsible, attractive adults working full time live here with their spoiled cats. I realize that being attractive has nothing really to do with this, but I thought I’d throw that in there. Also, it’s pretty obvious that cats live here. And that they’re spoiled. The easy answer is that we’re 25 and not making very much money so we can’t afford to decorate. I tell myself that sometimes. But I know it isn’t true. The real truth is that I have no sense of style.
There. I said it.
I admitted aloud probably what most people have known since I was able to dress myself. I can’t look cute. I can’t look trendy. I can’t even look “put together.” Most of my clothing is in solid colors because I really can’t be trusted with a pattern. And as much as I try, putting out fresh cut flowers, having all my books on display, carefully arranging various chachkes (how on EARTH do you spell that? Oh, I just looked it up and it’s tchotchke. Tch. Yiddish.) as if I meant for them to be placed just so, I only put framed posters on the wall, we’ve bought plants and put them around the house in little white porcelain cups, we even have rugs that match our furniture for God’s sakes. And yet it still looks like we’re playing house, but it’s not Adult Looking. (I heavily suspect our plaid couch that we found for free on the side of the road is partially to blame. But it’s really comfortable!)
The next question to ask is why the hell does it even matter. It’s not like I’m holding society ladies’ bridge club meetings here. I don’t really feel the need to impress my friends, though I sometimes secretly wish that my house was embarrassing enough that one of my friends would turn me in to one of those TLC intervention shows where they have snotty experts come in and tell me what a slob I am and how I can look better, act better, eat better, please my man better, raise my children better, etc. Wouldn’t that be so much easier than having to do all that research? Yeah, just become a total fuck-up and let a reality TV show fix it for you.
It’s a weird thing wanting to be an adult when you kind of are one. I can’t really explain what I mean by that. I feel like I’m in the weird purgatory between being a college student and a working adult and that I’m not fully submerged into either. And I really want to be in the next phase. I’m having an opposite Peter Pan moment I guess. I want to DO this.
Also, I want to play banjo more. Seriously.