Mummy The Perfectionist

I sometimes think mummy suffers from OCD. She has a weird habit of making sure that hangers in our wardrobes are spaced out equally, the dollar notes in her wallet have the same facing, things taken out of their storage place be returned to where they are kept (Everything has its place, she always says), folded clothes are of the same size and have straight corners, fluffing AND removing lint from our sofa cushions with a sticky tape so that the couch will look "inviting" (to whom, mummy? You and daddy are the only ones that sit on that couch!). Her system of categorising and sorting things is so complex that one will need a GPS to navigate through.

The way I see it, daddy seems to have it easy. His dirty dishes will be swiftly (and quietly, nary a word of protest from mummy) removed from the table, bedside table, or where ever he chooses to have his meal. And if he ever lightly mention that he is thirsty, mummy will scurry off to the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water pronto. The latter act, I feel, is not an act of OCD, but one of love