Getting up early to clean your bedroom, because over the course of the week it looked like the Paper Elf had been littering the end tables with train schedules, receipts and maps. I vacuumed the floor. I dusted. I DUSTED. I wiped down the bathroom. A feeling of joy sweeps over me. My cats look at me as if I've finally lost my mind.
The boyfriend made lunch. It was delicious. He then mopped the floor and vacuumed both floors. This is love. Or, it is OCD in the most magnificent form.
What is not love? The realization that our ridiculous roommate is incapable of doing any of these tasks. He is also incapable of cleaning dishes, putting them back in the cabinets after they've dried, using a vacuum, cleaning his bathroom, wiping off counters, etc. He IS capable of eating our food and finishing off ice cream. Is it August yet?
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