Notes On Becoming A Recluse

So. Just the other night, or last weekend, or the one before that, or maybe a month or so ago, Gordon O'Neil took me on a date to the movies. We saw "Date Night", which we expected to be hilarious, given the teaming up of Steve Carrell and Tina Fey.

It was...well, it was just EH. One certainly can't deny the funny parts (Steve Carrell dancing on the stripper pole was certainly a highlight), but there are always problems when one tries to combine comedy and action. There is a small problem with the credibility/believability factor. Anyway. So that's not the point of this blog.

The premise of the movie is a couple who has kids and jobs and bills and a mortgage and all the other stuff that comprises the life of a Grown Up. The complication of this story is that Steve and Tina are worried that their lives have begun to be too mundane, too boring, too predictable. They start to wonder about the choices they have made. And here is where we split, me and the movie.

I ADORE MUNDANE. I ADORE BORING. I ADORE PREDICTABILITY. I mean, don't get me wrong. I like to go out occasionally. But every single time we are out, I just want to go home. I look forward to going home and relaxing in bed with several episodes of Flip This House or House Hunters International. Case en pointe...while watching "Date Night", I kept wanting to lay out across several seats with a blanket. I find myself thinking about how it is so much more comfortable to watch a movie in my own bed where I don't have to deal with strangers who smack too loudly on their popcorn and slurp their sodas and who laugh just a little too loud and who smell funny.

This concerns me.

Am I becoming a recluse? Am I slowly but surely becoming the girl who stops cutting her hair, shaving her legs or putting on mascara? Am I going to stop wearing real clothes and begin wearing only sweatpants and my husband's t-shirts, all day every day? I may be turning into a hermit without really even knowing it. Already, I view trips to the grocery store as the bain of my existence. And don't even ask me about the last time I actually went to the gym. It's all too much for me. It just takes too much effort.

I find this realization disconcerting.

Obviously, this can't really happen because I have a job that prohibits such a lifestyle. But seriously. The minute I get home from work...the reclusery begins. And yes, I'm quite confident that "reclusery" is a word.

Then again. Who really cares? Is there really anything wrong with the fact that all I really need in life are my pets, my husband, my sweats and some cereal? No. No there is not. There is nothing wrong with this at all. From here on out, I vow to embrace my hermit habits.