Nothing Is More Annoying Than Bad Houseguests, Except for Bad Globe Articles

Continuing its tradition of pukey puff pieces devoted to slavering over rich folks with ridiculous dilemmas, the Globe comes at us today with a lamentation on the difficulty of staying with friends. Rich people with summer houses, hosting their perhaps slightly less rich (they don't have their own summer homes, after all) friends, run into all sorts of trouble with towels, rugs, and even--of all things--scallions. It's enough to make you never vacation again.

It seems rich folks have soft soles--one houseguest lamented that a take-your-shoes-off-at-the-door-or-else house had a "thick sisal rug... so fierce it's like walking on razor blades. Even with socks on, we need medical attention." Erm, sounds to us like you just need attention, to salve your wounded non-second-home-owning ego. Being asked to take your shoes off is not a personal affront, it's a way for your host to maintain a nice home. We suspect that, were shoes allowed inside, the Sisal Sissy would just whine about dirt on the floors. And hey--at least there weren't sisal towels in the bathroom. (Or sisal toilet paper.)

The Globe attributes these conflicts to "status anxiety"--the guests feel inferior to the second-home-owning hosts, so they find ways to nitpick, and the hosts only invite guests so they can feel superior. We attribute these conflicts to asshattery, and to people who don't know what real friendship is. Bottom line: hosts are not superior, guests are not inferior. Everyone's an equal opportunity asshat in the summer home environment.

The Globe also suggests that "visits" are better when the visitors stay in hotels. We say, if you can afford the hotel, why are you crashing with your friend in the first place? Sleeping on couches is traditionally the domain of the young and impoverished. The sisal rug softens in comparison to some of the issues we've dealt with: futons reeking of weed, friends' roommates doin' it really loud all night, sheets-free (or, worse, used-sheet) beds, pee-happy dogs, shower-crashing dogs (thanks for warning us that the bathroom lock doesn't work...), face-sitting cats, ash galore (we've got to stop being friends with smokers), refrigerators containing only beer (okay, maybe those are actually awesome), and magical deflating air mattresses. Once we even had the good fortune to arrive at a friend's home after midnight on the day the house ran out of toilet paper (at least there was Kleenex). What would Sisal Sissy do in these situations? Run for the Hilton in her Manolos, we suppose (and if sisal hurts your feet but you can handle Manolos, we can't help you).

Bottom line: if you're "friends" with someone you can't stand to stay with for a few days, are you really friends at all? We understand that many (rich) folks base their friendships more on social status than actual affinity, but c'mon. Also, there needs to be an understanding between both parties that a visit will (surprise!) disrupt the normal routine for a few days. And isn't that the point of visits--to spice up your life a bit? If you need your 30-minute scalding-hot showers, pristine floors, and perfectly-chopped scallions so badly, then don't invite anyone in who might mess that up. But if you're looking to have a good time with (real) friends, understand that it might involve a few minor, temporary sacrifices on your part. The scallions can wait--friendship takes precedence (though at least one Bostonist has resorted to violence as a result of improperly cut scallions).

After all that, we have two burning questions. One, if you have a summer home across town, do guests get to stay with you, or must they stay at their own homes, a taxing 15-minute SUV drive away? And two, can the Globe make its writers read some Veblen before embarking on more conspicuous consumption pieces?

Most of the Bostonists contributed hilarity to this post. Fancy beach homes we can't afford photographed by AntyDiluvian; beach photographed by chris seufert. Get your own sisal for under $70 at IKEA.