Snooping at a friend's house

Recently I wrote a guest post for a friend’s blog about poking around in other people’s homes. Ironically enough, a week later, I found myself staying in Melbourne at the home of a different friend, a novelist. I won’t give away my friend the novelist’s details, so for the sake of this story I’ll call her Carly Radd.

Now, Carly is a close friend of mine, but I’d never stayed in her home before. And I knew even before I arrived at her house that I’d have to sneak a quick look in her cupboards. I know it is not the right thing to do, but I do it anyway.

Yes, I am one of those cheeky women (because it’s nearly always women) who look in other people’s closets and bathroom cabinets. I’m not actually searching for something in particular, I just like to see what’s in there. I find that it gives me some information about the resident – their taste in perfume, their favoured cleansing routine, whether they have any nasty skin diseases.

Carly had nothing. Not only can I report that her closets were neat; she didn’t even have bathroom cabinets – at least, not in the bathroom I saw. She had shelves adorned with pretty soaps and neatly arranged face washers and towels folded into interesting shapes. I was crushed.

Not that I’ve ever found anything really interesting on my explorations. My friends’ wardrobes usually contain clothes, and their bathroom cabinets contain aspirin, soap, toothpaste, deodorant, and occasionally some standard issue feminine hygiene products. Either the really good stuff – Valium, Xanax, condoms, lubricant, sex toys and so on – are locked in the bedside chest of drawers, or I have totally boring friends. Like Carly.

Still, I have come across some really beautiful perfumes in my rummages. Occasionally, I have even spritzed them on my arm to test them out. On one shameful occasion I sprayed some fabulously expensive aftershave in the air, then had to hide in the loo for about 45 minutes until the smell (and evidence) dissipated.

I’ve been a sneak-peeker from way back. At 13 I stole a surreptitious look at my sister’s diary, although I only got as far as the first page. I dropped it like a hot potato when I saw she had written ‘Kerri you are a bitch’ in big black letters. The thought that she would suspect me of ever reading her diary made me weep with hurt, completely immune to the irony of my own despair.

I check out other people’s mail (not the contents, just the envelopes). I look in my husband’s pockets (not for evidence of an affair, but just for fun). And I am forever eavesdropping on other people’s conversations in cafes. I can’t help it. It’s just what I do.

So to Carly, I apologise for the sneaking around. But I still think you’re a bit weird. Who the hell doesn’t have a bathroom cabinet?

Do you look in other people’s cupboards? Are you a snooper or does the thought that someone else might look through your things make you cringe?

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