Vacuum sealed

I've just done the most unthinkable thing. The kiss of death. Life as I know it is over NOW!

I am however sitting in a pristine room. However, after cleaning out every corner, every drawer, even microscopic spec of dirty Branson dirt, smelly boy towel, illness ridden bed sheets, I've decided that this is my inevitable future should Christopher and I decide to marry.

Cohabitating with a boy whose mummy always cleaned up after him is never a good idea if you come from a family with three other siblings and have been doing your own laundry since the age of 10, maybe even 9.

It is slightly my fault because Mr. Branson used reverse psychology to get me to clean his dresser. We're sharing a wardrobe, the one I mentioned earlier, and I need majority of the space because there is no room to place my clothes in the dresser. So we had to lessen the amount of clothes that he hangs up. By doing so we had to make room in his dresser i.e. I had to make room in his dresser because he kept arguing that nothing would fit.

So today, three hours of heavy duty cleaning took place. And by the time I got to his dresser, where I honestly had about 40 socks laid across my lap and as I searched for the other I realized this is my fate most likely for the rest of my life. I rearranged his drawers, matched his socks, even refolded all his pants (boxers). I have become my own worst nightmare.

I am not morally opposed to taking care of my boyfriend. I'll iron his shirts if he asked. I suppose the only problem I have with this is the way my own mother will perceive it. I am an university educated 22 year old who came to England to get published. What has happened? I met a bloke and am now folding his socks and undies.

I am comfortable enough with my womanhood to take care of a man (or in Chris' case, boy, even though he is 23) but am I doing this for myself or for him? Cleanliness is obviously for me. I have traits of OCD. But ultimately I was thrilled to see just how happy Chris was at the sight of our new room together after he enjoyed a trip to the bank and a hair cut.

Holy shit! That is what my dad does every Friday. Bank and haircut. My dad being the least domesticated male on the face of the planet. My mother didn't neccesarily refuse to match his socks but we've had a house cleaner for years who does my fathers laundry most likely for that reason. It is under my personal opinion that my parents divorced because my mom wasn't enough like my father's mom who cooked, cleaned and took care of him long after dental school, long after he moved from Montreal to Toronto, long after he moved to St. Catharines from Toronto. Now my father is living with a quintessential Jewish mother type who cooks for him every night but has hired someone to match his socks.

Ok, that was long winded but I think I've deviated from my mother and father. Marriage and divorce is such a problem now and I hope to never be (divorced, not married). Maybe this keen appreciation of folding, cleaning and general housekeep is nature's way of allowing boy/girl relationships to last longer and be fulfilled. Chris is a renaissance man not a 21st century man. Maybe I'm the 21st century woman. I know my place in the world as a woman and folding my boyfriend's underwear has nothing to do with it. I'll bet he'd be just as inclined to fold mine (I would be weirded out though only because I don't want anyone touching my knick knacks).

This is very great and enlighting because I certainly thoght this was the kiss of death. I will gladly fold his underwear and match his socks and he will fully appreciate it thus leading us to having a fulfilling relationship of give and take. That's the key.

But I am still reluctant to tell my mother about today's chore.