A Level of Comfort

We've been living with Vern's brother, Vince, for three months now. I guess, somewhere along the line, we have reached a point of comfort in living here. So much so, that we have been doing things like:

1. Messing up his stove:

(There is no sense in buying him new drip pans before we move out because I would just mess them up anyway. I am somehow unable to cook without making an utter mess out of the drip pans.)


2) Utilizing his kitchen:

(We leave used tea bags sitting out. I've got my kombucha brewing and some beans soaking. My knives are out. Occasionally, one of the kids (or me) will put a piece of bread in the toaster and then forget about it.)


3) Dirtying his dish rags:

All of these are signs of becoming comfortable in our environment. We have kind of taken over, in a way... which is kind of hard not to do with a family of five encroaching on a man of one.

I also wash the dishes the way I wash the dishes, even though they are Vince's dishes and the way I wash dishes is the way he puts them into the dishwasher. And I wipe the counters off without being conscious of if I'm brushing crumbs onto the floor. And I go to the bathroom with the door open (if I'm sure that he's in the basement) because otherwise Peace will cry if I close the door.

And... wait for it... we've also had sex here a couple of times (shh... don't tell Vince).

Which a guess is a good thing, albeit, still a little weird.