Let's be clear. This is not a confession. This is a statement of superior declaration.
I don't see control freakiness as a character flaw. Things need to be a certain way. I am unpleasant when they are not. This is, by way of fact, the best approach to life.
My parents and siblings are not, to put it mildly, control freaks. When my sister and I shared a room, there was no need for a taped line of demarcation. My side was neat. Hers was not.
I am a good sister. It was important (to me) that Sister learn the joy of control freakiness. Therefore, periodically, I would take all of her mess and shove it under her bed. My lesson didn't work, but I certainly felt better.
My mom believes I am this way because she forced me to potty train at the age of 2. She is wrong. I am this way because it is the right way to be.
The beautiful thing about Husband is that he is a slob. I say this with all sincerity because I love to clean and he gives me plenty to clean. It's not unusual for me to find trash anywhere but the trash can. He insists that dirty dishes go on the counter. In his system the counter is the staging area while the sink is the cleaning area. This is so obviously wrong. Can you imagine the state of our marriage the time our dishwasher broke? We were as separate in our dish washing ideologies as Klingons and Vulcans are in their emotional recognition.
Best of all, he passed the slob gene on to our children. They are impressive disasters, especially Son, who believes the best place for any item is the floor, hygiene is just a suggestion, and toilets should never be flushed.
In an oxymoronic deviation of genetics, the children also inherited my control freakiness. Only their control freakiness is applied to a curious assortment of things. For example, don't ever try to take them out to breakfast without first giving them breakfast at home. They will stand there, flummoxed and steadfast in the knowledge that you have clearly gone insane. We eat breakfast before we go anywhere. That's it.
Son takes this a step further. Each morning, while he waits for me to get breakfast together, he eats a bowl of dry Cheerios and watches TV. Do not ever, ever, try to feed Son a breakfast of any kind prior to the Cheerios. He will explain to you, not very kindly, that one does not eat breakfast until one has had Cheerios.
Not only is it a violation for my children to sit anywhere at the kitchen table but their designated seats, it's a violation for anyone to sit outside their designated seats. At night, I sit on the right hand side of the sofa. Husband takes the left. My legs go on his lap. We have a beverage. We watch a show. Son interrupts about 14,537 times. It's lovely. Except sometimes, Husband sits on the right hand side of the sofa. This is not OK, but I have given up explaining to him how wrong he is. However, when Son sees this on one of his many visits, he is stupefied. So now he explains to Husband how wrong the seating arrangement is. Husband still doesn't move, or avoid his blunder. But at least someone is on my side.
Which brings us to the mustard.
I think it is logical, normal even, to have order in one's refrigerator. Eggs always go on the second shelf on the left, all the way against the fridge wall. Veggies always go in the right side crisper drawer. Sundae fixings always go in the second shelf on the left in the door, condiments on the second shelf on the right in the door. Husband's items go on the top shelf on the right because he's tall and therefore will not have to bend over to find what he wants.
Recently, I cleaned out my parents' fridge. Afterwards, my dad told me my mom was going nuts because I, to quote him, "have a different organizational style than Mom."
Organizational style? Organizational style?! She has no organizational style! Cool Whip containers were on three different shelves. Pudding on two. Unlabeled containers idled anonymously in the back of the fridge - not even on a shelf together to unite in their shared obscurity. And I can't even talk about the condiments without crying.
My system not only allows one to find desired foods easily, it also allows one to assess what is, and is not, in the fridge. This is how one avoids having three containers of Cool Whip. See? It makes complete sense.
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| You all keep your house the way you want. Leave mine alone. |
Sadly, I live with Other People. And as any self-respecting control freak can tell you, Other People will bring anarchy to your order. My Other People do it on purpose. I don't want to name names. OK. It's Husband.
When he wants to be entertained, he will remove the mustard from the condiment shelf and place it somewhere insane - the beverage shelf, for example, or the bread and leftovers shelf. Who ever heard of mustard residing with milk? He will go to work, knowing that I won't give him the satisfaction of putting the mustard with it's condiment compatriots, but knowing that I'm going crazy thinking of the mustard commingling with beverages. It is one of the few times in our marriage I don't regret The Videotape Incident in the least.
Wouldn't everyone be better off if you were in charge of them? he asked me recently. I mean, please. Don't waste my time with ridiculous questions. Of course everyone would be better off if I was in charge of them. I exclude from this Husband's mom and my Friend3, both of whom give me something to aspire to.
Which reminds me. I have some vacuuming to do.
The Binge
This is what I tell people about Spartacus: watch it with someone you love with the alcoholic beverage of your choice. Make sure there will be no pitter-patter interruptions - although you may wind up with a few more pitter-patters after you watch Spartacus. A gripping story, loads of nudity and sex, and tons of violence - if you need more from a show, I can't help you.
The show has run it's course, so you won't be locked into waiting for next season. Don't get confused when you look at the lineup - sadly, Andy Whitfield, who so awesomely played the titular character in the first season, passed away in 2011. His performance is nothing short of brilliant, making his passing that much worse. Some rehashing went into the series, so here's how to watch it: Blood and Sand, Gods of the Arena, Vengeance, then War of the Damned; and where to watch it: Starz and Netflix.
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