There may be a number of tremendous benefits of living at home (thanks for getting the stains out Mom!), but there is also a dark side that Dan and I found out about on Sunday night. Here is our story (told mostly in the second person for no apparent reason):
Imagine you come home one night to your nice adoring bed, the one that has served you so well for the past 15 years or so (ok, I've had my bed for too long). You climb in there, desperate for a good night's sleep so you can start the week off right on Monday morning. But when you slide underneath your comforter, you immediately notice that something is wrong. The familiar smoothness underneath your body has been replaced a harder and uneven surface. What happened?!
Your mother has ripped the heart and soul out of your bed. She has taken away your egg crate. You complain.
"Mom, how could you do this without even asking me?"
"Honey, it was old, I figured you might not notice or care."
"You called me on a beautiful Saturday afternoon to tell me about someone who ran under a tree and subsequently got hit by lightning. You couldn't call me to discuss something of actual relevance to me?"
And so it was that you slept one restless night, tossing and turning until you woke up in a sweat and considered switching to the couch. Then you thought better of it and simply got out of bed early.
Work was a bother, but upon arriving home you received the most welcome present of all: a new egg crate! Living with your parents can be a joy again after all.