The dreaded chores

Sara requested that we do a post about cleaning house... Well, Sara, I wrote one of those about a week ago and Max vetoed it because it was " too personal." But per your request, I am going to try again.

I've always been a fairly neat person. I love organization and having a designated space for everything. Since I've known Max, he has lived in some nasty ass places. His summer residence was known for their parties and their form of housecleaning consisted of throwing away last month's red plastic cups. It was so dirty you didn't even want to squat on the toilet, let alone even thiiiink about walking barefoot on their floor.

Yuck! *This might be a slight exaggeration.

(Sorry boys, I really do like you as people, just not as my roommates).

*This might be a slight exaggeration too, but you get my point

His other apartment during the school year was also a pig sty. There was always a stench as you walked in the door and the 10 paper bags on the ground next to the entrance door would be overflowing with old food, pizza boxes and an unthinkable amount of booze. So with Max being the cleanest one in the houses, I thought that moving in together wouldn't be such a big deal. We'd be fine when it came to cleaning. That there would be no more foul smells in the laundry hampers and that toilet paper rolls would be replaced once empty...

There was more transition needed than I thought. The first month we lived together, I was a living nightmare.  I would start the day in a great mood which quickly changed because I would find little things that I've already reminded the messy boyfriend about. And because I don't want to continue terrorizing him, I become passive aggressive and then eventually blow up because the place is a mess! It was never really a mess, but it would drive me CRAZY finding leftover toothpaste mouth on the handtowel or dried coffee on the counters and leftover crumbs on the table... and the floors... and the other table...and the couch that now has a permanent grease stain. I am pretty sure Michelle spoke SOLELY in passive aggressive comments for more than 24 hours, I'm not sure but it is definitely worth looking into whether that is a world record.   

From the previous post, you already know I have road rage. But you should probably also know that I have rage, in general. [Side note- My friends and I were playing Imaginiff. The question was: "Imaginiff Michelle were an emotion, which emotion would she be?" Out of 6 choices, they unanimously chose Rage.] We can't all be perfect, ladies. I guess I'm allowed to one fault, right? However, I'm going to save the in-depth commentary on my reactions for Max... He's a much better exaggerator than I am. I'm not an exaggerator, I'm a gifted story teller. You think Morgan Freeman exaggerates? Nah, he tells awesome freaking stories. I am just waiting till Planet Earth contacts me for voice-overs.

I make it out to be worse than it really is. Jesus I hope so! We made it through the first couple of months and seem to have a pretty good system. We've both had to compromise on our cleaning standards. He does dishes when I cook, which basically means he always does the dishes. Then we divide most of the other housework.  And when the other person begins a sentence with, "Uh Baaaabe," we roll our eyes, smile fakely and pretend to listen because the other person is about to say something that we don't want to hear. Or maybe that's just me. Definitely just you, I'm as sincere as a boy scout. Because there is no way that I did something wrong.