There it is! After three hours of sitting on a budget coach that smells faintly of wee, the front door to your family home is finally in sight. You drag your suitcase up the driveway, narrowly avoiding giving your dad's Volvo a nasty scratch, and blow kisses at your beloved cat who is perched on the front room windowsill, watching you intently. Keys are located, the magic key is slotted into the keyhole, and finally, the sweet smell of home sweet home is upon you.
First things first, you charge into the front room and retrieve your feline. She waits patiently for you to finish nuzzling your nose into her silky fur and gushing about how much you adore her. Cat loving over (for now), you sprint into the haven that is... the family kitchen. The family kitchen is governed by the mom, and boasts a full fridge, bulging cupboards and an abundance of Jamie Oliver cookbooks. The family kitchen is a million miles way from the pasta sauce splattered, mouldy dish hoarding, and constantly smelling of bin hovel of a kitchen that you're used to at uni.
It feels as if life slips into slow motion as you reach for the fridge door... mouth hanging open, a tiny droplet of drool waiting to trickle down your chin as soon as the treasures inside are revealed. And ping! The fridge light comes on and behold... a fresh block of cheese! Good quality yogurt! A punnet of cherry tomatoes... wait for it... on the vine! Such luxuriousness! You make blind grabs at anything and everything, stuffing your deprived mouth of items that are not in the basics range for the first time in weeks.
After this mouth stuffing ceremony, you head upstairs taking two steps at a time, to once again be reunited with one of the true loves of your life, a truly special, gorgeous, beautiful certain something... your own bed. You dive headfirst into the sea of scatter cushions and sink into the marshmallow that is your memory foam mattress. The clanking springs and lumps of your mattress at uni is far, far away from your thoughts as you blissfully marvel at the comfort of you Ikea baby.
A steaming hot cup of tea would be perfect right now, you think - as nothing is quite like tea made in your own home. Just as you begin to contemplate moving from your duvet igloo, the front door clicks open, and you recognise just whose feet are trotting up the hallway in a flash... "You home love? Fancy a brew?" These beautiful words, spoken in the cosy voice of your mom float upstairs... and you've never appreciate your own home more.