A day in the life of Stacy

Battle of the Anal Retentives

I'm sure everyone is anal retentive about something. With me its got to be photos. I've been hanging photos in my house lately and you wouldn't believe the brain cramp I give myself trying to get all the frames to match in different hallways. I was one frame shy of perfection and I knew my mom had some just like it hanging in her house so I asked her if she had any extras exactly like the one I was missing in her stash, she had some similar ones, but not exactly and she was totally giving me crap, "Come on Stace, do they really have to match?" Maybe in all the problems of this great earth, they don't have to match... no wait YES THEY DO. Like I'm going to spend hours with a lazer level perfectly lining up six photos down my hallway to have one retard at the end? I don't think so mom. My husband, God bless him, has to perfectly spread the PB&J on his sandwich for lunch every day. I mean the perfect amount of each, perfectly spread to each corner so each bite is equal. Then his apple must be cut into four matching slices with the core carefully cut out of each. I didn't pay much attention to the ritual until my mom happened to be there once and I noticed him perfectly lining up each slice an equal distance away from each other an equal distance from the sandwich. I'm like, "Geez mom, look at him, whata sicko..." My mom, I think, brought his anal retentiveness to a whole new level. When she puts jelly on bread, it is madness, MADNESS. One slice will have a pool of jelly in the middle, once might have a dusting on half, there is no rhyme or reason to it. She does a similar thing with butter, only it is always enough to choke a horse, and she barely spreads it. So when Todd is around my mom when she is buttering bread or applying jelly, he almost looses it. He doens't say anything at the time, but he will relive the horror that night convulsing on the floor,"your mom... butter... bread..." before passing out. There is also a battle when my mom wants to help do laundy. Me and Todd are both anal about all of his shirts and hangers facing the same way. My mom is anal about ironing. She has to iron all kinds of crazy crap. She gets a brain cramp when all of my t-shirts aren't pressed. Elliott put his foot down in high school when all of our jeans had a crease line like they were slacks. She still tries to do that to my jeans when she gets her hands on them. At this point in my life, I'm no fashion plate, but I'm still like, "Moooomm, I'm going to look like a dooorkkk." So the battle rages: "Stace! You aren't going to iron your t-shirts?" "Mom! All the shirts are facing different directions!" We are all a bunch of sickos. Somehow, I'm sure it will be the death of us.

posted by Stacy @ 4:27 PM