I straighten crooked pictures. So sue me.

I took a test the other day and passed with flying colours.

I am 83% control freak.

My husband, on the other hand, got 63% (which may make you wonder if we’re destined to reach our golden — or even tin — anniversary. Yes, we are. Don’t worry. Oh, and in keeping with my post of last week on being superstitious, I just knocked on wood.)

We actually took the test together. I asked him the questions and then went back to the beginning and took it myself. (No, that probably wasn’t the most scientific approach, but it was a Facebook quiz. So there.)

I wasn’t exactly surprised that I scored higher than he did. (I’m positive that he wasn’t surprised.)

But I strongly disagreed with the quiz’ recommendation that I should “live alone and not inflict myself on others.”

Really? I must say — that hurts.

What hurts worse is that, had I’d been honest about Question 5, I’d have probably scored 100%.

Me: “So I should be damned to living by myself forever because I want the garbage taken out when it’s full? That hardly seems fair.”

My husband: “You’re not totally like that. You’ve come a long way.”

Me: “This from the man who is two-thirds control freak. You’re no walk in the park either, buddy.”

In my defence, I believe that the world needs people like me.

People like me keep things ticking like a Swiss watch. In fact, I’ll bet Switzerland is FULL of control freaks.

On the other hand, those relaxed, laid-back places like Hawaii probably have sucky bus service run by people who’d score 28% if they took the quiz.

Maybe I should have joined the army. They love people like me.

As long as they don’t give me a gun.

Image courtesy of www.themetapicture.com