The Inner Monologue

Ah, the RV life. The open road. The freedom. The… people who treat their $100,000 home-on-wheels like a sketchy roadside motel, sleeping on paper-thin mattresses, eating off paper plates, and living out of a duffel bag like some kind of nomadic hobo with a credit score over 700.

Newsflash: Your RV is not a hotel. It’s not a tent. It’s not even just a “vehicle.” It’s your second home—one that happens to have the audacity to relocate whenever you feel like it.

Stop Living Like a Squatter in Your Own Damn RV

You wouldn’t show up to your lakeside cabin and think, “Welp, guess I’ll sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor and eat cold beans straight from the can because this isn’t my REAL house.” No. You’d unpack. You’d settle in. You’d live there.

So why are you treating your RV like a glorified Uber with bunk beds?

Make It a Home, Not a Highway Horror Story

1. Real Dishes, You Savage
   Paper plates are for backyard barbecues and children’s birthday parties. If you’re an adult who owns a rolling mansion, act like it. Get some decent plates, a real coffee mug (one that doesn’t say “#1 Camper” in Comic Sans), and maybe—just maybe—a wine glass that isn’t plastic. You’re not a college freshman tailgating in a Walmart parking lot.
2. A Bed That Doesn’t Feel Like a Park Bench
   If your RV mattress is thinner than your patience when the WiFi cuts out, fix it. Memory foam toppers exist. Real sheets exist. Pillows that don’t feel like bags of sand exist. You sleep here. Make it tolerable.
3. Your Clothes Live Here Now
   Living out of a suitcase is for people who hate themselves. Install hooks, shelves, or at the very least, unpack your damn clothes. You’re not a contestant on Survivor: RV Park Edition.
4. Stock the Kitchen Like You Plan to Eat
   Hotels have mini-fridges with $12 Pringles. Your RV has a kitchen. Use it. Keep spices. Have a coffee maker that doesn’t require a YouTube tutorial to operate. Pretend, for even a second, that you enjoy your own existence.
5. Decorate (Or At Least Try)
   If your RV’s aesthetic is “2003 used car lot,” we have a problem. Throw up a photo, a plant that’s hard to kill, or a rug that didn’t come from a gas station. You’re not a prisoner. You’re a person with a mobile living room. Act like it.

The Bottom Line

An RV is not a hotel. It’s not a rental. It’s yours. So start treating it like a place you want to be, not just a metal box you endure between hikes and gas station hot dogs.

Or, you know, keep eating cold soup straight from the can like some kind of RV gremlin. Your choice.