The “No Boys Allowed” Jail Break
Back in the day, when I was even more confused about what I wanted to be when I grew up that I am today, I took the Myers Briggs personality indicator test. The results indicated that I ought to become an air traffic controller. Or a bonsai tree specialist. But mainly an air traffic controller.
I never thought that this rather grim prognosis would come true. Then again, I never thought I’d be back at home and living with my parents at 26.
As far as parents go, Landlord and Chauffeur are pretty cool. Additionally, there are obvious advantages to living with a pair of responsible adults (my mom went grocery shopping last week, for example, and the tissue crisis has since been solved) but there are also some obvious disadvantages, co-ed sleeping arrangements being one of them.
Growing up, I was allowed to have to have a boyfriend (once I hit sixteen at least) but I was only allowed to spend time in my bedroom with said boyfriend if the bedroom door remained open.
Ten years later, I’m still following this rule (and The Wedding Date is always banished the guest room when he comes to visit) but I’m a bit more brazen than I was at 16. And a bit more creative. And a bit more destined to be an air traffic controller.
The no-boys-in-the-bedroom rule, you see, applies not just to me but to any unmarried guests that come to stay at Casa Richter— not because my parents are particularly draconian, mind you, but because I made a big deal about it several years back (it seemed to me that if I had to suffer, everyone else should too) and now it’s basically written in stone.
Actually, it’s written in black ink and affixed to the doors of the guest rooms every New Years Eve: Single Ladies Headquarters on one side of the hall and Single Gentlemen’s Headquarters on the other.
(And yeah, I know I’ve screwed up the apostrophes there but I’m running late for work and I can’t be bothered to figure it out.)
At any rate, like I said: I’ve gotten more brazen in my old age. The minute Landlord and Chauffeur went to bed this past New Years Eve, I unleashed my inner air traffic controller and sprung into action. Rounding up all of my unmarried-but-nonetheless-involved friends, I redistributed them amongst the various guest bedrooms hissing, “You two go downstairs. And you two: you can have the Single Gentleman’s Headquarters once everyone else has cleared out.”
The Wedding Date, who is several years my senior, was greatly amused by all of the shenanigans—especially the next morning when I slipped out of bed at 7:00am to make a dash back to the Single Ladies Headquarters (aka, my actual bedroom) before my parent’s woke up.
“It’s like a jail break,” he laughed, “except you’re all trying to get back in!”
“Shh!” I whispered, “You’re going to give us away!”
We made it (or so I like to think; it’s quite possible that Landlord and Chauffeur knew all along despite my innocent why-yes-I’ve-slept-here-all-night face…) and I’m starting to re-think my previous aversion to a career as an air traffic controller. I mean, I managed to orchestrate the dispersal of nearly half a dozen couples across four floors, in pitch black conditions.
Just think what I could do with one of the tripped-out flashlight things and a reflective vest! There’d be no stopping me.
In the meantime, I’m intrigued by all of the crazy rules people have to keep their kids (even grown up kids) from getting jiggy with it in the parental abode and I know I’m not the only one who’s dealt with this sort of thing, so: do tell.
Kat Echevarría Richter 
8 Responses to “The “No Boys Allowed” Jail Break”
My parents, having been raised as strict Italian Old-School Catholics, NEVER allowed me to have a boyfriend growing up.
I brought exactly one man home to meet them at the age of 23. I expected them to make up the couch for him, as he was staying the weekend. But oh no, they had other ideas. They moved a mattress into our basement of all places, as well as a coffee table. The basement, though finished, was a bare beige prison littered with cobwebs (we’d just moved back in after leaving the house vacant for 5 months).
Best of all, I found my father had loosened the railing so that, should I try to climb down there in the middle of the night for any undercover cuddling, the whole banister would shake and wake up anyone left asleep in the house.
I informed them that, while I appreciated their attempts to protect my virtue, I was in fact an adult who only got to see said boyfriend on weekends, and if they ever wanted to spend another weekend in my company then my boyfriend needed to sleep on my floor of the house.
Haha– both my door and the floor outside of my bedroom squeak. I’m pretty sure my dad planned it that way.
Here I thought I was being very clever in how I organized the lodging and bathroom arrangements. (with the women getting the much needed gussying up bathroom real estate) You neglected to mention my goodie bags and other little touches I add each year. 🙂
You will someday understand the need to at least appear even-handed in parceling out the room assignments. As you now know, we really don’t care what happens after we close our door, but with various family units under our roof, with the accompanying family “rules”, it is best to take the high road.
After all, ALL of you are clever people, and as you have demonstrated, can figure out ways to go “rogue”. Though with the limited private space available, I don’t even wanna know (covering my ears)
LOL!
I was a nerd.
I suppose the longer version is: ha! I couldn’t get a girl over if I tried.
Apparently nerds don’t become worthwhile until college, and then even then…
In quik reply to Meghan, Kats home, (where she rents) is a new home that was purchased “unfinished”… We installed all bamboo floors through out, It all looks very good but right outside of the door to her room there is a spot that squeaks when you walk on it, does not matter tip toe, socks, shoes, walk along the wall….. what ever, it squeaks loudly when ever one passes over it, I know she thinks it was somehow planned that way. And Kat, air traffic controllers, do you wear the reflective vests and have the tricked out flashlites, you may have needed these items when directing human traffic, (poor choice of words), but ATC’s sit in the tower, inside and look at the radar and other screens…..I imagine tech support will also let you know that too.
Psshhh! And as for the floor… I’ve recently been informed by a source who chooses to remain nameless that there IS in fact a silent path– you just have to know how to step, like that scene in Indiana Jones with all the booby traps!
Reblogged this on robert's space and commented:
mr mr is one of them and madame has got that problem…..we have you on the screen at borg cubicle ghq.ready for the colditz glider with catapult all hands are ready to launch you out of the bedroom.