living with parents

Last night few of my brother’s friends came over for a drink before we were supposed to go out to town. Just after seven the boys showed up with some beer, sausage and few DVDs. The sauna was already hot.

After one in the morning the first ones called a cab to take them home. The last one, half asleep on the sofa decided to take the first bus home. I told him to transfer himself to the other guest bed – the not so nice one as the one I was sleeping in.

When I woke up, there was beer bottles scattered all over the place. Luckily my parents were only coming back in the evening. As I threw all the bottles into a plastic bag for my brother to take to the supermarket and made up the other bed as nicely as I could I started laughing. What an image? I then took the half empty bottle of fizu (an absolutely disgusting drink that is made by letting two bags of fisherman friends melt into a half a litre of vodka) into my brother’s room, away from the kitchen I could no longer deny the déjà vu.

Since we were kids we have been allowed to bring over who ever we want, whenever we want. Also, they were away, so we were not disturbing them, or being on the way. And I think we are starting to be old enough to buy our own drinks. (Even though one of the guys had been asked for his ID when he tried to buy a lotto ticket – the age limit is 15) And why am I trying to justify the fact that we had few friends over?

That’s what you get for staying at your parents place…

Ps. they both read this blog