Neat Freaks, you know, those persnickety Felix Unger types. God help me, whenever I encounter one of these people. I feel a twitch starts in my right eye and I hear this C-3PO-esque voice say, "Melissa, a place for every thing and every thing in its place." And blah, blah, blah... I have a friend, whom I privately refer to as Nora Neatnik, who constantly tries to clean my house. Just like my grandma. "Nora" is always poking around offering organization and cleaning tips, suggestions for vacuum attachments she's found and other tidy up things she likes. I want to scream! She was here the other day and well...It was another episode of Attack of the Neatfreaks. I swear I should write a horror film about this.
Yes, maybe my closet doubles as a last minute storage bin when company comes over. And perhaps my desk is full of notebooks, post-its, and the bracelets I wore yesterday. So maybe I have a few foil-wrapped science experiments at the back of my refrigerator. And every now and again you could ride the dust bunnies under my bed and dresser.
I don't care! That's the way this bitch rolls.
I've got things to do, a life to live. Just because my housekeeping leaves a bit to be desired, doesn't mean I am a hapless slob. There are not roaches crawling over my house. There is no stench wafting across the neighborhood (That's the refinery across the border in Hammond) I don't have to clear a path in case of a fire. So, I don't make my bed other than to pull the blanket over it. I'm going right back there in a few hours. Yes, my book shelves are crammed with paperbacks that have dog-eared pages and assorted rocks and crystals. I don't have enough room for everything and I want it all out where I can see them, touch them. They are my things.
So to all the neatfreaks out there haranguing their not-so-neat-friends, let me give you some South Side Chitown advice "Suck it up buttercup. Ain't your crib."
