When I am at last rich and famous, I don’t think I will employ a maid service. I don’t even think I will buy a dishwasher. I am overly fond of doing dishes. Now, let me qualify, I have never wanted to do dishes so badly that I will dirty dishes just to clean them. I am not quite that pathological.

But I love cleaning. Sometimes I will do it just because I’m stressed. Often, I will do it as a distraction from something I don’t really want to do.

I noticed it first, likely, when I was a freshmen in university. Every time I had a big exam or an important essay, I would clean. The more imposing the task, the more cleaning I did. Dishes, of course. My favorite cleaning. I love the tactile quality of dishes. I love the warm water, the soapiness. I love the shining, clean smell when the dishes are done. With bleach and vinegar, I would even clean the dish rack. I would descale the coffee pot. I would shine up the tea pot. I would empty out the crumbies from the toaster and wipe that down too. The kitchen floor. I would vacuum. Not just the floors, dusty shelves, dusty curtains, defiled ledges. I would sort and file all my papers. I would clean TV screens and computer monitors. I would do laundry. The bathroom too. The front hallway. Sometimes, even, I would shine shoes. I would line up all the exposed footwear, tucking the laces neatly inside the shoes. I might even clean out the fridge.

In University, my roommates loved me during final exams.

Without commenting too much on my parents, when I was growing up, my house was, if not an outright disaster physically, and, yes, probably emotionally, at the very least untidy. While I didn’t really notice it until I was on my own, I’m sure I was a pathological cleaner in my childhood too.

Psychologists suggest that pathological cleaners – because of the act and physicality of cleaning – are making up for some feeling of deficiency or, worse, performing some kind of penance for some kind of sin. I’m not too concerned about this. If my Filter Queen is my path to righteousness, if Pledge is my aerosol absolution, where’s the harm?

And I don’t think I’m completely anal about it. I also make a mess. And not just so that I can clean it up. I don’t vacuum every day. I don’t vacuum in the middle of the night when I have insomnia. And if I were that much of a freak over cleanliness, I don’t think I should have a white-haired dog that sheds everywhere.

SS