We have a man staying in our house this weekend. A great, generous, funny, smart guy who I love dearly. He’s just about the best person I know and I’m lucky to count him as a friend.
But unfortunately, I am going to stab him through the heart.
The reason for this unfortunate event is below:
You probably look at this picture and see one of two things.
a) Some mugs.
b) Chaos and disorder.
I’m a b person. Or as my friend said, when I pointed out his mug-related faux-pas: “You are a Class A freak”
In case you can’t see the problem, it’s that the chap has clearly placed a Dean & Deluca coffee mug with the Denby mugs. Now, it’s fairly obvious that the Dean & Deluca mugs are a different size and shape to the Denby mugs. The Dean & Deluca mugs are special – they’re thicker than usual so they keep coffee hot for ages and they have sentimental value because they were a gift from one of my favourite stores in New York.
In a world of chaos and disorder, it gives me comfort to know that my mugs are segregated, my wardrobe colour-coded (black to the left, gradually shifting to white on the right) and my books alphabetised. I can’t help it – I just feel better knowing things are in their right place.
This is all well and good when you’re the only adult in the house. Things get put away in the right place, and if you put something down, you know it will still be there when you get back. Nobody is around to mock you.
Invite someone else into your home, though, and this lovely calm certainty goes out of the window. Suddenly the toothpaste is being squeezed in the middle of the tube, the cans in the cupboard aren’t facing forward, and somebody is folding towels in the laundry cupboard in half, when everyone knows they should be folded into THIRDS.
One of the downsides of single parenting is, I think, that it’s so easy to get used to having it your own way. You possibly, completely ever so slightly lose perspective.
I’m reduced to silent, simmering rage when things aren’t done my way. And the poor chap is probably making a run for the airport while he still can. He may even be arranging a fake identity in case I ever try and invite him back.
Basically, I’m going to die alone surrounded by cats. Unless you have some tips on how to
a) Not be a control freak
OR
b) Train a normal person into becoming a control freak
