Displaced

Have you ever been alone in someone else's house? Not just while they go to the car to get groceries, but good and alone, where there is no hope they'll walk in the front door or call?
TT: I suppose if you're a thief, the answer is "yes."
Those who read Monday's NAF post know I watched the nieces last week. I stayed at their house because it was easier.
Weird thing happened. Something was out of place and it was me. 
TT: We used to "house sit" overseas, but I was young enough that all places were equally weird/common to me. I credit mom with making all houses home.
More than once last week, I walked around in the dark muttering, "They have to have (fill in the blank). I mean, they're human. They're American. They're the same socio-economic strata as me (probably higher). Everybody has this. Where would they put it?"
Some things I found; some I didn't. I'll ask about those privately. Maybe.
The little differences were most unsettling. The absence of some things I consider essential (a radio, for example. If one exists in that house, it's so high-tech I can't recognize it). The presence of some things I don't use (bread). An abundance of items that may as well not exist (three remotes for a TV I can't figure out how to turn on, let alone channel change).
Yep, I was a turtle out of her swamp.
I survived. The nieces didn't even notice. They were asleep during my displacement moments, not that they could have answered my questions, probably. They don't pay much attention, either.
Anyway, displacement is over for now and vacation is done. Hopefully, life in a more normal sense can resume.
What is normal?
Not wondering where the Kleenex is, for a start.
Thanks for trusting me in your house, Elder Brother and WGR. I tried to leave it better than I found it.