OCD, Our Other Roomate
One day my Mother asked me why all of my friends have a touch of OCD.
'Not sure,' I answered. 'Maybe it's because I get it- sort of?'
She jokes about how I was 'boxed up and color-coded' before she moved me into my first (and only) dorm room. Come on Mom, the boxes weren't really color-coded.
Matty is the most domestic-yet-still-manly dude I know. He can fold like a GAP employee and lines up his shoes, ties and belts. He thought I was god's gift when I took him to Target and bought him a belt and tie organizer. I prefer a good, organized, mess.
You can see the pile I folded in the background.
The best thing about Matty and his obsessive little friend is that he never puts it on me. He likes his stuff neat but could care less if mine is sloppy.
The only time I get chastised is when we're making the bed together and I either a.) mush the comforter into the duvet or b.) don't pull the fitted sheet tightly enough. I end up laughing while he straightens.
"I don't want to end up with air bubbles Dawnie," he tells me.
People tell Matty that he has ADD, confusing it with ADHD, because he has tons of energy. Trust me, a person with ADD could never pull this off. It takes concentration to keep things as neat as he does.
Guess which Shelf is his...
I love our third roommate. It allows me to explore the depths of my own OCD at times, like scraping the margarine on an even layer. Kindred.