Spring time, the only pretty ring time, hey ding..... a ding a ding...

 I am now going to complain like a spoiled little rich girl. 

I debated posting this. I might have been a pampered child back in the day when Mum and Dad both had really awesome jobs, but I was still taught good etiquette. That's the difference between Spoiled and Brat. 

But sometimes lots of petty, stupid things start to pile up and get me t'ed off. In real life, I do not voice these complaints because I know I'm being a spoiled obsessive compulsive efftard and it would be best if just kept my mouth shut. 

Take every other Thursday, for example. Betty, Mum's cleaning lady, comes to clean the house 2 Thursdays a month because both Mum and Little Sis are too lazy to do it themselves, and I'm not going to clean up after myself and 2 other people just because they're such pansies they can't even work the hoover.

>:(

....

.......where was I? Oh yes, Betty. I don't think we need a cleaning lady, mainly because we don't have any money. I do adore Betty--she's teaching me Portuguese and if I happen to be home when she's there, I make her coffee (she totally loves Cinnamon's South African coffee btw!), and I help Betty clean and change everyone's sheets and do laundry so she can leave earlier. 

Since I work 9 - 5 all week, I usually only see Betty for like an hour in the morning. She changes all the bedding after I leave. It's totally awesome coming home to the bed made (I hardly ever have time to do it in the morning so it's a mess during the week--pretty much like a nest).

But she effs up my blankets and mattress. And when you have OCD tendencies, that sort of thing is enough to cause a grand mal obsessive compulsive seizure. 

I've got a memory foam mattress topper on my bed, and it's extremely awkward. (BUT SO TOTALLY WORTH IT.) It's not quite as big as the mattress, so you need to secure it at the headboard or you end up with a big gap between the memory foam and the mattress, and when you sleep your face will end up wedged in the gap and it sucks. My comforter is kind of awkward too,  because it tends to get all tangled up in the duvet cover. 

These things make me MANIACAL, so I go to great lengths--using safety pins, which fix everything--to make sure that the mattress stays where it should be, and the comforter doesn't turn into a nonfunctional blob.

Certain Things need to be in Certain Places, and Operating According to Plan or I will start killing people.

It takes effing AGES to fix the comforter when it gets all wonky in the duvet cover. And in order to properly fix the memory foam thing, you need to pretty much disembowel my bed because of all the pillows and blankets and the canopy thing getting in the way.

So every other Thursday evening I come home to my nice made bed, and once I get a better look at the state of the mattress and comforter, I have an electrical storm somewhere in my orbitofrontal cortex. 

But as I said before, I am well aware of how ridiculous I am. I take a deep breath, and deal with it. Because it's really not a reason to complain. Someone comes to my house and puts clean sheets on my bed and hoovers my floor; and I don't have to pay for it. That's f**king awesome. So DUH, I'm not going to complain just because my comforter is a little messed up. 

I still think it, though. Even if it's only for a split second, that Thought still formed. And I feel like that makes me an arsehole. Like what Sister Clara always told us in grade school--even if you THINK bad things, you are a SINNER and you are going to BURN. 

OCD is so fun, right? ?

-____-

It gets worse as I get older. And I think it's kind of funny that Mum and Little Sis are so used to my madness by now, that they don't even question me. The opposite in fact--I'm slowly training them to cater to my compulsions. 

Take the dishwasher, for example. 

Dishwashers are the fruit of the gods. You put the dirty dishes in it, you put the soap in it, and push a button. You don't have to sit there with your gloves and fairy liquid and a sink full of gross water. You don't have to do ANYTHING. 

Except load the dishwasher Properly. 

The dishwasher in my house is like an outpost of the third reich. 

There is a REASON for this--I'm not just doing it for fun. If you Load the Dishwasher Properly, you can fit the maximum number of dishes in it, and have a far easier time  emptying it when everything is clean. 

The other members of my household do not share my wisdom. They'll just fling the dirty dishes anywhere and make a huge mess of the dishwasher, and then we end up having to run it two or three times more often. 

The dishes MUST be segregated. 

So I rearrange everything Properly. I tried being stealth in the beginning, but Mum always catches me. (She likes to make fun of me for this.)

After years of this, however, Mum and Little Sis have started being more careful how they load the dishwasher, so that I don't have Dishwasher Spastic Time multiple times a day. Because even Mum must admit that when I have loaded the dishwasher Properly, it takes only half as long to empty it when it's clean. 

My madness does make sense if you really think about it.