I have been holding back from writing this post for a LONG time in hopes of finding my inner-peace but when I came home today to find MULTIPLE snot stains on my couch I thought I was going to turn green, rip my clothes off and start beating on my chest. So here it is, another rant. Grab a cookie, a glass of milk, take your socks off and bask in my anger, apparently it’s entertaining.
I’ll acknowledge that I’m probably not the easiest person to live with. I’m incredibly protective of my food and am prepared to suffocate anyone who takes the last slice of pizza without permission. Do you even know the pain of waking up first thing in the morning, thinking to yourself: “Great, I’ll have some Pizza for breakfast (eaten cold because i’m hardcore)”, only to open a greasy box which has evidently been put back into the fridge due to the fact that it contains nothing but a measly piece of salami in it? Additionally, I’m pretty much a grandma on weekdays and don’t have much tolerance for large groups of people and noise when I’m planning to catch my Z’s at ten pm. My eighteen year old self would hate me. However, the thing I’m most particular about is cleanliness.You’re picturing me as the crazy asian version of Monk now, aren’t you? Well in that case, picture this.
You’ve come home after an extended weekend away.The apartment is empty so your roommates must to be out. You hang up your keys and run to the toilet because as per usual, you got the urge to pee as you were in the lift. You slam the door shut and just as you’re about to sit down , what do you see? A toilet bowl which has clearly been violated. A person (or a bear) has clearly taken a ‘big one’, flushed and decided to leave a huge stain for the next person to clean up as a nice little bonding activity. Tasty.
Then, on the way to kitchen, a dull stench wafts down the hallway. Its source is a rubbish can, filled to the top and overflowing on to the floor. Juices and all. Someone was definitely going to take that out today, no cause for a commotion. You navigate around the trash pile only to notice your stocks are sticking to the floor. It appears as if an unidentified brown sticky substance has coated the floor and been left to dry. Pepsi? Barbecue Sauce? You’re not going to taste and find out.
You open the fridge which is covered in ketchup stains and are caught off guard by the cheesy aroma which drifts out. You poke around to find the culprit, an old, open mozzarella packet, with it’s juices leaking out. You push it to the side because you are strong and refuse to clean up someones mess again and continue loading in your groceries.
You then proceed to cook your dinner, ignoring the stove which has become slightly crusty and the various remnants of whatever meal was put together before on the kitchen counter. With the intentions of putting away your own mess, you open the dishwasher to find that it is curiously full though there are a total of maybe five items inside. “Somebody didn’t play Tetris as a child” , you mumble to yourself. You go about reorganizing the dishwasher to fit in your pan,plate and glass. Before you can escape to your room, you decide to take a nice relaxing shower.
You grab a towel, strip yourself down and hop into the tub. There appears to be a fluffy hairball in the drain. You swallow hard, take a cotton pad and attempt to remove it slowly. It catches. It’s stuck in there pretty good. You pull and pull until finally, your hand is free! You shudder and toss it all in the bin. It is done.
You feel yourself relax as the hot stream of water beats down on your tired muscles. The smell of your shampoo calms you. After you reluctantly step out, your fogged up reflection greets you in the mirror. You take the corner of your towel and quickly wipe over it. For some reason, you still don’t clearly see yourself. It dawns on you that this is due to the fact that the mirror is actually covered in toothpaste stains. You feel your head get hot. The vein in your neck begins to pulse and then…you black out.
When you open your eyes, you are standing in a spotless apartment with a fresh sheen of sweat on your forehead, a bottle of CIF in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You’ve lost the battle.
Disclaimer: The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this post are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
– A Pearl of the Orient.