Tomfoolery

My husband has some OCD when it comes to clutter.  He likes things to be in a place where he things they should be.  Unfortunately, he can get a little crazy with this.  An example of this is that the man can not come into the kitchen and sit down for dinner if there are pots and pans left on the stove.  He will wash these items first before eating.  If there are dishes in the sink, he will put them in the dishwasher.  By the time he is done cleaning the "clutter" we will have finished dinner and he will eat alone.

He does not like to come home from work and find us eating in front of the television because that means we have glasses of liquid sitting out.  Or empty plates waiting to be carried to the kitchen.  He feels that once we take that last bite we should get up and clean our plates.  Who needs drinks next to them when it only causes condensation to run down on to the coasters?  Drink the drink and put the glass in the dishwasher.  He has been known to pour out a full glass of liquid while you are in the bathroom because, "I thought you were done.  You left."

We have visited his work on the weekends en-route to somewhere else and he will have the same reaction there.  He will be showing us a training room and if he spies trash on the floor, "There is a trash can right here," or a water bottle sitting on a table, "Seriously?  Throw this away," or papers left behind, "Slobs.  How hard is it," he will rant and rave and clean and clean.

We have a drill at my house.  Everyone who knows me or my kids well knows the drill.  We see Tom's car pull up and we yell, "Daddy's home!  Places people, places."  And we all jump up and begin a quick clean of clutter.  Dining room table have books and hairbrushes on them?  Darcy takes that.  Glasses and plates out?  Madison washes those.  Shoes lying on the floor?  I'm on it.  Blankets out that aren't being used?  Pillows out of place?  Dog toys on the floor?  Kelly takes that.  And on and on.  We have it so down pat that we can have it all spick and span and be back on the couch in front of the TV before the man enters the house.  It is easier then having to listen to him.

We all have idiosyncrasies.  His, for the most part, is mild.  I'm not saying that I don't explode when I find my desk "cleaned" or, when the kids were younger, toys in the trashcan, but I can live and deal with this part of him.

During football season I spend Sundays planted on the couch first at my house for the pre-game shows, then at my buddy's house for the Steelers, and then back on my couch for the second games and Sunday night football.  I am a fanatic like this until February.  My husband is very good about this and cooks dinner on Sundays.  Two weeks ago he was making BBQ shredded pork in the crockpot and working on it about the time I was heading over to my buddy's house.  He was in the spice cabinet and had taken out several containers of spices and had them spread out over the kitchen counter.

Him:  "How many spices do you have here?  Do you even know?"
Me:  "Yes.  I know exactly what is up there.  I just cleaned it out recently.  Please don't mess with my spices.  I have the three spices I use the most right where I want them to be."
Him:  "Well, I can't find anything in here.  There are so many in here.  How many containers of cinnamon do you have?  Do you even know?"
Me:  "Seriously?  Yes, we have two containers of cinnamon up there.  Who cares?"
Him:  "I do.  We don't need two containers.  And chili seasoning.  We have more then one of those.  It's just crazy."
Me:  "No, crazy, is how you are acting right now.  But I don't have time for this.  I'll see you later."

I left.  I figured how much damage could the man do to a spice rack?  The next day I found out.  I opened up my pull out cupboard and found that he had taken three spices and put them on the shelf that is for tomato and spaghetti products.  Left them.  Sitting there.  As if that was a better place for them then the spice rack.  Heaven forbid we have more then one spice in the spice rack.  I took a deep breath, did some muttering, and put the spices back.  My pull out cupboard is organized and there are specific places for everything in there and spices is not one of them.  Why he would put them in there made absolutely no sense.

Then I opened my refrigerator to find this:

Me:  "Why would your father put the chili powder in the refrigerator?  That man has seriously lost it."
Madison:  "Maybe it was too hot."
Me:  "That's actually funny."

Later:

Me:  "Why would you put the chili powder in the refrigerator?  Please explain that one to me."
Tom:  "What?  I didn't do that."
Me:  "I left it in there, so please feel free to go see that you did."
Tom:  "I think I may be losing it."
Me:  "That is exactly what I thought.  I mean, really?   It was bad enough you put the other spices in the cabinet, but chili powder in the refrigerator?"
Tom:  "I must have thought it was too hot."

I give up.