See, I live in a logical world and as such illogical things make me so damn mad. ANGRY! If you leave a dirt ring in the tub similar to the ones you find in a junkyard, clean the shyt out! If I just mopped the damn floor, why walk on it with dirty gym shoes? Why? I guess because you have a maid service, so its fine to leave your clothes strewn around the living AND dining room.
Why clean it up you say? Because the shyt skeezes me out like open sores. Really, if I see a mess and walk away from it, I'll think about it all day. It's like the mess gets in my mind and taunts me. "Hee hee haw, I'm in here just chillin' chump". And like an ass, I get up and clean it. But guess what? I'll have another surprise waiting for me somewhere else.
I live with folks with a far lower skeezability factor than mine, far lower. And that's fine. Some things just don't mess with others. Doctors crack open people all the time. Garbage men still pick up the trash every week and there are janitors that clean up the most abominable messes ever known to mankind. My gripe, though, is the lack of appreciation shown for cleaning up after a) Grown ass people, b) Grown ass people, c) GROWN ASS PEOPLE! Man, I could tolerate cleaning after a child because it's a given that they're filthy. But I'm talking about folks that have stalked this earth for a half a century and more.
And you know what this leads to right? Me being the biggest bytch, crying over spilled milk (Pun intended. Who the spilled a whole glass of milk on the counter, and didn't wipe it up!). Me screaming at the top of my lungs. Me looking like the ass. So I learned my lesson. Just clean the effing stuff and go on about my business. Man, if I wasn't so into watching complete seasons of Oz right now, I would run away. Little nap sack and all!
Okay, I'm done...that was very theraputic.
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