Dear People Who Write Articles Called Dear People Who Live In Fancy Tiny Houses

Dear People Who Live In Fancy Tiny Houses

I am totally going to respond to some of the topics in this post, lol.

Do you actually love living in a fancy tiny house?

Most of the time, I actually do! Mine isn’t fancy though. Mine was built a long time ago and is better described as “quaint,” “vintage,” “crusty,” “dusty,” and “being inexorably eaten by both plumbagos and termites.”

What the hell happens when your tiny house partner farts Mexican food farts, huh?

If you are a grownup: Do the decent thing and ignore it.
If you are a grownup and the fact cannot be ignored: Have an in-depth discussion about stool quality and tell yourselves that the ability to candidly discuss poop is an excellent indicator of the future success of your relationship.
If you are a kid: Shriek, giggle, attempt to shift blame to someone else, get into a fight about the blame-shifting, make a huge deal of it for the next three hours.
If you are a dog: Fart right next to Meg when she’s trapped working in her office. Look confused and hurt when she sends you out of the room. She is super unfair, what the hell.

Seriously, where do you put your shit?

Cabinets, cupboards, The Gorm, a variety of shelves covered with copious amounts of dust, the good shed, the crappy shed, and Goodwill. It’s ideal to let a bunch of random crap sit on every horizontal surface in the house, especially the dog crate in the office and the workbench that doubles as a kitchen counter, under the deluded impression that someday we are going to find somewhere tidy to put it.

And I know your house isn’t that clean all of the time.

My house is clean none of the time. I have a cute doormat that says “Home” but I could do with one that says “I can explain.”

In your pictures, it looks like you only own a tiny sofa, several throw blankets & pillow, one cooking pan, one antique book and one framed photo of you laughing in front of your tiny house.

We own no sofa. However we own enough dog hair to stuff a sofa, four pillows of which three are not presently mangled by Fly, and a trundle bed thing Josh insists on occupying in the most unintuitive and uncomfortable-looking position possible.

Hey. Do you have privacy in your tiny house?

You just seal yourself in the bathroom and pretend to be taking the world’s longest and most satisfying dump until someone bangs on the door demanding his or her own turn in the bathroom pretending to be taking the world’s longest and most satisfying dump.

Don’t you ever want to turn toward your lover or spawn and shout, “Get out! Get out of my tiny house!”

Yes. Kiddos, if you act feral in my tiny house, it’s INTO THE WILDERNESS WITH YOU. And by into the wilderness, I mean moping around the front porch, burdened under the weight of injustice, searching for bugs to be scared of and asking every 5 minutes if they can come back in yet.

What about guests?

We have lots of guests!

Where do you put your guests?

Lots of places! Like, um… outside…

Can friends and family even visit you?

Just kidding no they can’t.

Be honest: You just want to live out your life like a Wes Anderson character, don’t you? You want to be some eccentric full of whimsy who doesn’t need modern tools or resources to live a fulfilling life.

Not gonna lie, this is pretty much the ultimate goal.

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