The museum of minor inconveniences, living as a single person.
[a thread]

When running out of toilet paper, instead of being able to holler for someone else to bring you a roll, you have to do that awkward pants-around-the-ankle shuffle to retrieve it yourself.

Tea in the morning is your responsibility and yours alone. Half-asleep, half-waking, you make your way to the kettle, bleary-eyed, even though your bed whispered “a few more minutes”.

Only you can stop at the shops on the way home from work to procure milk for said tea.

Catering. Do I really want to make a macaroni and cheese that could feed a family of four? But you recognise that you are but a vessel for pasta, and that is valid.

Agonising about what to watch on Netflix because you are super indecisive and only you can make the choice.

The middle-back itch. It is relentless.

If you fall asleep on the couch, the only gentle prodding to go to bed is the lounge light shining in your eyes.

When you’re not feeling well, you’re expected to both cater for and host the pity party. Unjust.

Finding weird and wonderful ways to zip up the back of your dress when you could really use an extra set of hands.

It’s always your turn to do the dishes.

**sidebar from museum of major inconveniences: single income household

You’re the one who has to hastily put on clothing to meet the Uber driver at the gate.