Okay, I admit it. I’m a Kitchen Nazi. I have aknowledged this and have accepted this.
Let me explain…(no there is too much, let me sum up—–name the movie!)
My kitchen has to be clean. If there are bits of food stuck to the sink, no matter what, I will scrub until the sink is spotless. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of the night or if I have just walked in the door and am still in my clinic clothes. Bits of food stuck to the sink: not acceptable. When the bananas that have been in the fridge for as long as I can remember turn black, I throw them in the trash. When the coffee pot has been rinsed but was set up-right to dry, I will rewash the coffee pot and put it back in the draining rack, upside down so all of the water drains out of it. When there is a coffee mug sitting on the counter, I rinse it and put it in the dishwasher.
Now, you might say that some of these things are not bad and not Kitchen Nazi-esque (the bananas–gross). But I must confess more. I have, next to the coffee pot, a very cute, red, Fiesta Ware cream and sugar set. The sugar container has a little top while the creamer does not. If I walk in to the kitchen and the top is on the creamer instead of the sugar, I have to put it back on the sugar. Every time. Freakish and not normal. And I’m okay with that because in my mind, the top goes on the sugar and not on the creamer. If dishes are put into the dishwasher without having been rinsed, I will take them out of the dishwasher, rinse them, and put them back in the dishwasher. If the arrangement of the dishes is not logical to me, I will rearrange all of them. (you load from the back to the front, and you do not put all of the silverware in one compartment of the basket). I clean the counters, sink, and stove top probably every third time that I go in to the kitchen. I am a Kitchen Nazi.
These are just a few examples (and granted they have all happened, some more frequently than others). The ironic thing about this is: I hate to cook. I get no joy from cooking a meal. I love to eat but don’t like to cook it. If I could marry someone who loved to cook, I would clean the kitchen every single night after dinner.
I’m not sure how many people actually read this but a warning to any future roommates: keep the kitchen clean and tidy and I will not secretly hate you each time I wipe up peanut butter off of the floor. 