I love my girlfriend. She’s a great girl. We have a terrific relationship and everything was going great until I moved in with her. I always knew she was Type A, but this is ridiculous. I can’t put a dish in the sink for 30 seconds before she’s all over me to wash it. I can’t put my feet on the coffee table. If I listen to music, it’s too loud. If I put some photos of my family on the wall, she changes the frames. She doesn’t like where I plug in my phone charger. The list goes on and on. I’d say I feel like a guest in my own home, except she’s nice to guests and she’s not that nice to me, especially if I leave a pair of socks on the bathroom floor.
The problem with Type A people is that they always think their way is right. Hey, just because you like to fold the end of the toilet paper roll into a flower after every time you use it, it doesn’t mean everyone else should.
Living with someone is hard. No offense, but living with a boy is really hard. I’m no Type A personality—I think I was actually tested once and came out as a ZZ. But everyone has their limits. For instance: I don’t care if you leave a cereal box on the counter for six weeks. No big deal! But if you throw a dirty t-shirt on the floor NEXT TO the laundry hamper instead of inside it, I’ll rip your head off and throw it into the pool. Don’t make the bed? Don’t care! Don’t hang your towel up on the towel rack I designated as belonging to you and you alone? Will shove the towel down your throat while you’re sleeping! Mr. To Chea has a fit when I leave empty coffee mugs around the house, or when I close a bread bag improperly. We understand this about each other. We try to keep these things in mind as we go about our days.
What I’m getting at here is that you need to arrive at some sort of compromise. Sit down with your girlfriend, tell her you feel like you’re in prison instead of a loving relationship, and see if the two of you can work out a standard that’s comfortable for both of you to maintain. As long as you’re not acting like a total slob, and maintaining a base line of standard cleanliness, it’s her problem if she wants to sanitize the door knobs three times a day. If she won’t compromise, and it’s her way or the highway, you might want to consider hopping on the old interstate and driving off to the land where people let you put your feet on the coffee table.