I can’t find my clothes. So I ask my one and only at our first sleepover:

-J, where are the clothes I came home from work in? 

-The ones stained with chocolate, syrup, and the ones you mop the floor in? – He replies.

-Exactly! At any job – whatever you do, do your best. So where are they? – Yes, I came home all covered with syrup.

-The ones with caramel and dust stuck to the sleeves? 

– Yes, my love. It’s a part of my job description: making coffee and mopping the floors. Where did you put them?

-Honey, right here. One load’s in the wash, then I’ll put your work clothes in.

-Separately? You wash it separately? What’s the point? Don’t you overuse the water?

-Yeah.

-But where is it?

And you know, where that is?

 By the entrance, on a small bench, my shirt and pants sit in a neat, arrested pile. The shoes – sticky from milk, syrup, and cookie crumbs – weren’t even allowed inside.  

-Where did you put my shoes?

-Outside. 

-What if it rains?

-They’re under the awning. – Firm point.

– What if bears smell them?

-I already washed them.

-How? They weren’t even allowed near the sink. 

– Shoes in the sink? A nightmare! I washed them with the hose. 

With the hose…  It’s our first sleepover. I’m madly in love but a bit concerned. 

-Has anyone ever told you it’s a little annoying… but still really sweet and caring? – I am smiling.

-Has anyone ever told you people don’t usually wash shoes in the sink? Normally. – He’s smiling even more. 

Well, I’m not tidy – I’ll eat food off the floor, no problem. Once I even ate something from the trash (that’s a whole other story). And yeah, I’d wash boots in the kitchen sink with the kitchen sponge! Why? Sometimes I don’t even notice it’s the same sponge – too busy with creative stuff. Other times, it’s just: “Whatever! I dragged myself out of bed – I am grateful just for that.”  

J isn’t exactly “okay” with germs, as the Canadian dialect goes – meaning “not quite ok” as in extremely NOT OK. Almost like Howard Hughes (actually, exactly like Howard Hughes – minus the planes and billions). Hands scrubbed raw sometimes, car seats sterilized after passengers, phone and keys quarantined until Lysol-wiped upon arriving home.  

-How much energy does that even take from you? Keeping in mind, what’s clean, what’s dirty? Washing, sanitizing, throwing away and washing your hands after that?

-Not much, I guess. It’s quick, I’m used to it. And it feels good after.

-Lots of things feel good if you free up time from cleaning. – I’m just supposing. Still – a huge smile. I’m madly in love, I can’t hide it.

-You’re a bully! – He answers with a smile. I’m waiting for a kiss or a hug. It’s obvious to have a kiss or a hug right at that moment. But he’s hesitating. I’m a bit offended. And it will take me long, very long to understand how cleanliness is important for him. Understand that it’s not be – being rejected, but my clothes that were outside, my hands not being properly washed.

For someone with OCD, cleanliness is the difference between a peaceful mind and a mental fire alarm blaring 24/7. Like living with a tiny invisible janitor in your head who screams every time a crumb hits the floor. 

But OCD has another extreme: people who live in absolute chaos of messiness. But me – I’m sort of a “normal messy” – sometimes just too lazy. Anyway, I can’t help but imagine our future together. Wondering if our love will survive the epic battle. 

We were both born in the Year of the Ox. Both stubborn. Extremely. So our worst enemies? Ourselves – and this innate stubbornness that complicates the simple and blocks new paths.  

Any change – the one that will be engraved into you – takes such a long time!

Yeah… That’s how we live. Well, not live like we live together  – yet – still figuring it out. Stubbornly.