Growing up is my least favourite thing. I moved out of my parent's house a little over 2 years ago and my boyfriend Calum and I have since set up our own little home; a great, but admittedly pretty daunting experience. For the most part it's been fairly plain sailing, but there have been a few hard lessons to learn along the way.
The little costs do actually add up | I remember my older brother constantly telling me to unplug my laptop when I went to sleep and turn all the lights off when I was leaving a room; something that I admittedly never listened to. Since moving out I have become that person; following Calum around the house and turning off every switch in sight.
Cooking everyday can become a slog | don't get me wrong, I love cooking. But admittedly there are some days when it's just not the one. Late evenings at uni and dark, rainy trudges home have me eyeing up the takeaway menus more often than I'd like to admit.
Having your own space means clearing up your own mess | I don't think that I was particularly messy before moving out, but it's something that I've definitely become more aware of ever since. Little things like putting the empty toilet roll tube in the bin become nobody's responsibility but yours.
Parties at yours aren't all that fun anymore | we've had very few large parties since setting up camp; mainly because the few that we have had were pretty awful experiences. It's suddenly your furniture that people are sitting on, your coffee table that people are using without a coaster and your neighbours potentially banging on the walls due to the noise.
If you don't clean the bathroom, nobody will | who knew?