It’s no secret that I’m married to a slob. Thankfully, my wife realizes this, admits to it, and (proudly) owns it. I knew this fact going in, so it wasn’t a surprise when we got married. Because I’m anti-slob. I began to work on my master plan of manipulation to un-hoard her nasty ass and take over the house cleaning duties very early in our relationship. After all, if things aren’t done my way, they’re done the wrong way. With five cats, a nasty dog, one teenager, and my sloppy wife under one roof, I quickly realized that I had my work cut out for me. To combat her conscience and obvious lack of house cleaning skills, my wife gleefully labels me as OCDave. Pfft. Pay no attention to that. She fails to realize that it’s a constant struggle for me to keep the house museum-quality and company-ready at all times. (Never mind the fact we rarely have company). What’s wrong with keeping an orderly, sanitized and immaculate house?
Making The Bed
Ever since I was a child, I made my bed every morning. My wife clearly lacks this skillset. Therefore, I have taken over this chore and make the bed as soon as I get up in the morning. In my mind. I am unable to start my day unless the bed is tidy. Although my inner conscience screams at me to iron the sheets, I’m somehow able to struggle through my day knowing the sheets are wrinkled. No OCD here.
Cats, Cats, More Cats and One Dog
Cats are nasty animals. They shed. They claw. They vomit. Every day. With five cats and a dog in our house, cat and dog hair continuously circulate through the air 24 hours a day and then rain down on every possible surface. I’ve even found cat hair in the refrigerator! In the morning, the odds of stepping in a fresh, warm pile of cat puke are pretty high. Instead of cleaning it up, my wife likes to play the I Don’t See the Cat Puke game – even when it’s directly in her path!. To humor her, I play along – although my soul is howling at me to clean it up. We play this game for days until I finally give in, chip it up, and mop the floor. Certainly not OCD.
Countertops, Floors and the Dining Room Table
Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than clean countertops, clean floors and a clutter-free dining room table. Thank God for my very best friends – Windex, 409, paper towels and a vacuum. I’m known to wipe down the countertops at least three times a day – in the morning when I get home from work, and before I go to bed. Is that excessive? If I don’t vacuum every day, tumbleweeds of cat hair will form, float along the tile floors and collect in every corner. And the kitchen table? It’s a free-for-all dumping zone: purses, backpacks, mail, clothes, bags from the store – even trash – collect there every day. It’s a full-time job to sort through the clutter and put things in their proper place. Remember, I live with two slobs, five cats, and a dog. There’s always a contaminated, cluttered mess somewhere begging me to clean it up. No, I am not OCDave.
It is impossible for me to go to bed or leave the house when there are dirty dishes in the sink or otherwise laying around the house. Morning and night, I make the rounds through the house to find hidden cups, bowls, and plates (many with unfinished food and drink) left to rot by the kiddo. It’s not uncommon for me to find dirty dishes on the floor or even in the bathroom! OCD? Hardly!
Having a sixteen-year-old teenager in the house is a struggle all it’s own, Like her mom, she is incapable of cleaning up after herself. Once a week, before I attempt to clean her bathroom, I routinely kick my own ass for not owning a Level A Fully Encapsulated Chemical Resistant Hazmat suit. I swear, if I was a research scientist, I’m certain I would discover the cure for cancer somewhere in the mix of unidentifiable substances that accumulate on the counter top, floor and inside her shower stall. In addition to sustaining her bathroom as a hazardous wasteland, the kiddo is known to litter INSIDE the house! In an attempt to train her how to use a trash can, I bribed her with twenty bucks and used pictures with small words, but she still didn’t get it – her nasty habits continue. Am I OCD? No way.
I understand that OCD or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is a serious and debilitating illness. Clearly, I don’t suffer from OCD. I suffer from being married to a slob and having five cats, a dog, and a teenager in the house. I hereby diagnose my reaction to such as normal. I can’t wait to tell my wife that she’s wrong, and my name is not OCDave.
HA! In your face, baby!
And despite your many flaws, I still love you madly.