Home will always be home. But, sometimes things are a little too close to home.
If this resonates with you, then you probably still live in the same town you grew up in.
If it doesn’t? Well… then, lucky you.
Whitby is my place. My go-to. My square one.
But sometimes I’d like to go to the gym without running into my elementary school ex-boyfriend that I broke up with because he was “too immature”. For the record, we were twelve, and I believe that comes with being a child.
Now that my friends and I have been back from University for quite some time, we are all in that awkward stage of, “What do we do next?” and “When can we leave this place?”
Our classic line when we step foot outside our homes is, “God, I hope we don’t see anybody we know.”
When we say, “know” we mean people we went to school with or grew up with that we can’t be bothered to make empty small talk with.
There should be a universal signal that means: I’m glad you’re alive and doing well, but please don’t start a conversation with me. I have no makeup on, I haven’t showered in 3 days and I don’t want to make false promises to catch up.
I’m sure some of you are thinking that this signal equates to a smile and a nod. But one smile and nod too many and you’re 30 minutes deep into a convo with someone from your past while holding tampons and deodorant in an aisle at Shoppers Drug Mart.
Yes, this actually happened to me.
However, I will say that living in a relatively small town is both a blessing and a curse.
Blessing? There’s one great bar that everyone is guaranteed to be at on the weekends.
Curse? There’s one great bar that everyone is guaranteed to be at on the weekends.
If you plan on getting a little carried away and having a little too much fun, someone you don’t want to know (or witness) is going to hear about it in one way or another.
“Hey! I think I saw you at Tap the other night? Weren’t you the one tha-“
NO. No I wasn’t.