It’s not all cakes and beer being me. I have a lovely and sparkly personality and can be an asset to any planning party. I think outside the box with such wild abandon, one might conclude I hate boxes altogether. But there is a dark side.

First, I talk a lot. This is evidenced not just by people who personally know me, but can be seen in the fact that I keep posting blog updates like what I have to say could be considered important. What I like the most about writing over talking is simply when I write, I don’t even have to pretend to conversation.

Someone once said that in conversation, the opposite of talking isn’t listening – it’s waiting. While writing, I’m in monolog mode and don’t even have to wait rather than listen, I just type and type and essentially just babble on. See how well that’s working?

The other thing that makes it difficult to be me is my delightful attention to detail. This is the nice way to say I’m anal-retentive or perhaps obsessive-compulsive. This means that things that don’t bother normal people scream to me of chaos and incite a sense of doom.

The other day, Dick offered to empty the dishwasher. I jumped up and told him I would do it because he did it wrong. He was offended and asked me how one could empty a dishwasher “wrong” and then went off to sulk. I felt a bit bad, but he does not empty the dishwasher wrong so much as put the dishes away wrong.

Back in the days when I had all colored Tupperware glasses in three different sizes, they had to go into the cupboard in yellow, orange, brown, green order. If I was missing a cup, I knew which color was hiding somewhere with something in it, beginning to mold. At least that’s what I told myself.

My glasses are all clear glass now and so I don’t have this problem. However, my coffee cups have to be put in the cupboard with the green and white (Go Panthers!) together, black and blue together for obvious reasons, and then the brown and cream together because they are left.

No one in their right mind cares about this. Only I care. I have no idea why I care, but I do. I claim it is still the same reason as the Tupperware glasses, I would know what color to look for. That’s still as absurd today as it was twenty years ago.

I also have two sets of cute little six inch diameter plates. One set is adorned with flowers and has cups to match – causing a double whammy. The other set is decorated with coffee cups and had no cups I could purchase which is just as well, because the plates get hot if you microwave them, meaning the cups would have been pretty useless as I use cups.

When I’m putting dishes away, the sets have to be kept together. I don’t really care which is on top, but the coffee cups with the brown trim have to be together and the flowers, with white edges have to be together.

Spoons. Not my spoons, but spoons nevertheless.

I also have two sets of flatware. I have service for twelve with a weave pattern on the handle and they live in a Longaberger basket with a divider which sits on the counter. I have another service for four which is in the drawer. This set is something I use less frequently and use mostly when I travel. I’ve been taking soup to work for lunch and so pack a soup spoon from this drawer each day. I can’t eat soup with the little plastic spoons we have at work.

Dick helped me yesterday. He ran the dishwasher while I was at work. That was very nice. He is such a good husband. He really does go out of his way to help keep the household running smoothly. He not only ran the dishwasher, he emptied it.

The plates are put away, white edge, brown edge, white edge, brown edge, etc. The soup spoon I had taken to work with me was in the Longaberger basket instead of the drawer. I really didn’t check the cups to see if they are mismatched.

I feel horrible that I would be so picky, but I really can’t help it. I left the plates alone because I really need to let this stuff go. It doesn’t matter. It is not important. I did rescue my crappy soup spoon because I need the crappy ones to take to work, just in case I lose one. I don’t want pieces missing from the service for twelve.

At least that’s what I told myself. Really, it’s just because it is so difficult to be me.

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