OCDishness
I’m not going to pretend I know much about actual OCD, but sometimes I have to wonder. For the last few weeks, whenever I opened the towel drawer in our kitchen, my entire body tensed up and I wanted to run for the hills… all over the riot of randomly-colored neon microfiber towels my husband couldn’t pass up at Harbor Freight.
Sure, my* brownish-colored microfiber cloths resided there, which made it the logical place for the new ones, right? But, the towels we had before worked just fine, and didn’t overflow or clash with the rest of the subtle, orderly, earthy-colored collection I used to appreciate so much.
Didn’t disturb the peace.
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So, this morning, I couldn’t take it anymore.
First, I sorted everything by color, which helped tremendously, of course. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, I was compelled to remove certain colors, and will ask the hubs later where he’d like me to stash them that will work for both of us.
See, compromise is good.
Especially if we hide them away someplace I don’t have to see them too often.
*I only referred to them as mine because I selected and bought them with me in mind. He obviously he doesn’t give a crap about color. (Assorted neon?) He knew he was welcome to use them anytime…especially around the house!
