When OCD met M.E.S.E. (a modern day love story)

Picture the scene; a simply beautiful flat, original features lovingly restored to their victoriana days. Painstakingly chosen colour schemes, fabrics and accessories. Not a spec of dusk in sight, a place for everything and everything (i mean everything) in it's place.

I am the first to admit that i have a healthy smattering of OCD, in the sense that i can't sleep until everything is either back in the wardrobe or the laundry bin, the wardrobe doors have to be fully closed, the curtain-tie backs level with each other and the bedside table meticulous arranged in order of expected importance in the night (phone-water-tissue-book).
 
However this harmony has been distrupted by an alien body, one so intent on spoiling the right angles of the coasters and the hair-free environment of the bath that it hurts to even say it's name.... chris (ouch).

This said the positives are that i will never again:

1) Abandon a too-tight jar
2) Stare longingly at high things in cupboards 
3) Stay out of a room because a spider has moved in
4) Talk to myself (as much)


But on the flip it's going to make it tough to find a moment to bleach facial hair, sing to the glee soundtrack and wax my bikini line as these things are not meant for sharing...

Onwards and upwards