- You can finally dig your nose in peace.
Also blow your nose loudly, sniff up leftover nosey without immediately going in search of a fresh tissue, sneeze multiple times without apologizing once and generally exhibit all signs of a virulent cold attack. Atchoo! And choo! And choo! And thoo as well! So there! Sniff, snort. (Wipes nose on sleeve.)
- Room service is… you.
Not to mention housekeeping, laundry, shoeshine, newspaper… not deliverer but you know: the guy who leaves it right outside your room? That one. The chicken sandwich you make doesn’t taste the same without all the salad-y twirly things on the side that you never touched; the Coke isn’t as warm even if you left it standing outside for quite ten minutes; the drinks aren’t as overpriced. Tipping yourself 20% of what the chicken cost on sale at the local supermarket makes no sense. Oh, sad, miserable world. And no, getting CNN on my TV at home isn’t the same! I don’t feel as connected. Haven’t you seen the ads?
- You no longer have to worry about monsters under the bed or check for cooties inside it
I don’t care if I’m staying at the Mandarin or the Ritz or Udipi Hotel… I’m convinced there’s something wrong somewhere. Why else would my mother travel with her own towels? And my great-uncle his own pillows? They’re older; they must know something. And how do you know some alien life form isn’t hiding under the bed or in the tub, just waiting for a chance to leap out at me? I see horror movies. I know what’s what.
- All your Stuff is at hand
Maybe it’s a girl thing. Although I know plenty of boys and I think otherwise. Still, if you insist, I’ll play along that this is a girl thing – but Stuff is important. There is nothing worse than being hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away and realizing that the one thing you most want, you most desire, you most need Goddammit, is lying safe and snug in the wild tangle that is your second-from-left, bottom dresser drawer in the spare room. How did I know I’d need a crowbar and an iron file on my trip? I never planned to rob that bank when I left home after all.
- Your answering machine has 23 messages
And all of them are sales calls. Nobody loves me. 😦 No wait, they do love me! It’s just that they’re all waiting for me on Facebook and Orkut and MySpace and Ringo and Friendster and…
- The spider has a new home and it’s called The Corner of Your Bedroom
Every once in a while, some insect will come check things out. Your house could be guarded against all such intruders like Fort Knox against… um, evildoers? Thieves? Yeah, thieves. But they’ll still get in. And they’ll waltz around for a couple of days, evading all attempts at capture and decapitation before going into hiding. You’ll let your guard down, believing all danger to be past. And then, when you least expect it, you’ll wake one morning and find a cobweb on your face. Aaaaaaaarrrggghh! Kill it, kill it, (somebody else please) KILL IT!
- You walk in the door, switch on the computer and simultaneously check your email and your blog.
You know, Daddy might have been on to something when he said I was addicted to the internet. Hmm. Is there a support group I can join? Online?