Here’s an absolutely unrelatable problem: everyone wants to shack up at your gorgeous, sprawling, 4200-square-foot home. I am deeply underqualified to judge this scenario. By underqualified, I mean I am answering you from a shoebox-sized, one-bedroom cave, praying my landlord doesn’t raise my rent if I so much as sneeze too loud. But, qualifications be damned, I’m taking this on because the laws of hospitality are universal. It doesn’t matter if you’re living in a château or your parents’ basement, letting someone move in is not just a casual favor. It’s strapping a boulder to your back and smiling as people pile more on.  

Guests overstaying their welcome at dinner is annoying. The friend who lingers long after dessert, the relative who forgets to leave after the movie ends, all mildly irritating. But a casual couch-surfer who overstays his surf welcome and evolves into a six-month squatter, feeding on your goodwill like a leech on a nice calf. That’s less friendly favor and more endurance challenge.