Hometown visits do not always offer relaxation

Allison Pritchard

Homecooked meals. The family dog. Cable television from the couch. When some people go home for the weekend, these are the things they tell you about.

After weeks of my parents complaining they never get to see me, I decided to go home last weekend for a leisurely time.

The fun started when I went to retrieve my car from the “nearest” S-37 lot. You would think being a junior on campus might allow me to park somewhat close to my dorm, but each time I park my car, I spend about 15 minutes searching for an empty spot. Then I end up having to park 15 minutes from my dorm in the freezing cold. Nice job, Parking Services.

On the way to my car, my arms were weighed down by about five over-stuffed bags of crap to take home. I kept cursing at myself for not taking two trips. Naturally, when I found the far-off locale of my car, I realized I forgot my car keys in my room.

The greatness of going home mounted more so once I paid the turnpike fee and finally arrived in my driveway. I was greeted by my mother psychotically yelling, “What? You’re going back to Kent tomorrow?! Why can’t you spend more time with us?!” Nice to see you too, Mom.

I then greeted my crazy dog my friends affectionately refer to as “Kujo.” The gleam in her eye told me she couldn’t wait until she could hump my leg once I sat down.

For dinner, a colorful array of nasty healthy vegetables loomed in front of me, alongside glasses of milk my sister alerted me “have been sitting out for hours.” The roar of yelling that followed surely was heard from neighbors blocks away.

After dinner, I went to the mall with Mom to pick out an outfit for an upcoming event. I tried on a few choices, and then Mother dear picked out about twenty more outfits for me to try on. I was held prisoner in the dressing room. Once I thought the coast was clear – BAM – more clothes to try on. I suffocated in the piles of hangers and stacks upon stacks of old lady dresses and too-big dress pants.

At night, I went out with high school friends. Because our hometown is so ecstatically exciting, we drove around for hours, chatting about old friends who already popped out a few critters or got hitched. The orgasm of our night was when we stopped at our 24-hour Wal-mart, where we spent about twenty minutes swooning over the $5 DVD bin.

After some binge-eating via the Taco Bell drive-thru and Sheetz, I was dropped off at home. When I go to the bathroom, I found a most horrific sight.

An almost-used roll of toilet paper was sitting on top of the freshly filled toilet paper dispenser. I hate that. Why the hell can’t you just wait for the roll to be done before refilling it? No one likes to awkwardly fumble around to unravel a crappy, almost-used roll.

Going home isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Why can’t we all just experience relaxing weekends with properly filled toilet paper rolls, placid parents and non-humping dogs?

Allison Pritchard is a junior electronic media production major and a humor columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected]