My Home Is a Dictatorship
Don’t even try to mess with my system
My home is my castle. I’ve lived with other people in the past, but I’ve been on my own for the last nine years, which has offered ample opportunity to really wallow in my own persnicketiness. And today is your lucky day that I can share it with you. Because after all, there’s my way, and there’s the wrong way.
In this world, there are civilized and uncivilized people. When it comes to toilet paper, if you get it wrong, I will judge you.
There is one way, and one way only, that toilet paper should hang. That way is over. It’s like it’s being served up to you on a silver platter. It’s ready to leap into action to satisfy all your toileting needs.
The alternative is the ridiculous system shown above. You have to go fishing around the roll’s backside to find an elusive scrap of paper — how does that make any sense?
It’s worth noting though, that just as Elle Rogers recently pointed out, this is not a “so OCD” kind of issue. Not at all.
This is more a tyrannical supreme leader issue. Back away from the toilet paper roll.
There is a system for my dishwasher. It’s finely honed and allows for the maximum number of dishes in the dishwasher at one time. Visitors, as measly peons, do not know this system. They are not expected to learn the system, but if they think they can shove things willy-nilly into my dishwasher, they’ve got another thing coming.
What is universal, though, regardless of the specific dishwasher, is the cutlery insertion and extraction system. Who the heck puts the cutlery in handle first? That means when you take it out, you’re getting your grubby hands all over the eating end of the utensils. My mother subscribes to this particular form of insanity. She’s an otherwise fairly logical person, but she goes off the deep end when it comes to cutlery. I’ve tried to convince her of the error of her ways, but she’s even more rigid than I am, so that’s not happening.
The toilet seat
Say you’re stumbling into the washroom in the middle of the night. You’re barely awake, but you have to pee. You go to sit down, and discover that your butt has landed in the toilet water. It’s then time to stab your partner with the fork that you have removed from the dishwasher by the handle.
Put the seat down.
I’ve done a fair bit of travelling, and seen some pretty funky toilet situations. You know right off the bat if there’s no toilet seat this is not going to be a pleasant experience. Whether you wanted to sit on a seat of not, no seat at all is a very bad sign.
It may be that I’ve been in early menopause for years. Regardless, I have an internal furnace that is going strong the majority of the time.
So, you think you’re going to come over to my house in the winter and turn the heat on? Back away from the thermostat, and keep your hands up where I can see them.
If I’m feeling generous, I might agree to close a window. Maybe. But if you’ve screwed up my dishwasher system, you’re shit outta luck. And God help you if you’ve commit the toilet papery deadly sin.
To conclude, my home is absolutely not a democracy. Could that be a reason why I’m contentedly single? Possible. Do I give a fat flying roll of toilet paper? Absolutely not.