Cleaning Machine

I had a really good shot at getting what I refer to as  the "clean gene". I think it's a dominant gene, like brown eyes, compared to the "dirt gene", which might be like blue eyes. My grandmother has very strong clean genes, while my grandfather had maybe one clean gene, and maybe one dirt gene. My mother got a clean gene and a dirt gene, but maybe her clean gene was uber powerful. My father probably has one of each.

My sister, lucky/unlucky girl that she is, got the two dirt genes. She can be blissfully happy surrounded by 3 week old chip bags, old half-empty bottles of wine (this is an example as clearly, she would not leave wine behind), and trash from sophomore year. She is the dirt gene carrier.

I, however, got hit with the ultimate clean gene combination... two strong clean genes. Boyfriend is just starting to experience my cleaning prowess. I can behave like a normal human being as long in the following situations:

1) My car is clean, but my purse and my house are messy
2) My purse is clean, but my house and my car are messy
3) My house is clean, but my car and my purse are messy

But when two of the three are messy... I snap like one of those women on Snapped!, a show about women that flip out and bury their cheating husbands alive or something like that. I get a look in my eye. I start planning my attack.

"Why do you have a crazy look in your eyes?" Boyfriend asked.
I ignored him; so much cleaning to do, so little time.
"Oh God." He watched me dig out bottles of bleach, lysol wipes, my swiffer, and my scrubbing bubbles, along with my rubber gloves and new sponges. "Cleaning time?"

I attack. I throw away old receipts from my purse, sweep and swiffer my tile surfaces, and windex my car windshield from the inside. I bleach and scrub and clean, clean, clean.

Sometimes the urge will hit me while Boyfriend and I are driving somewhere, like to meet his mom for lunch. Suddenly, I can't help but clean his car. It's so messy and cluttered... and even without a Walmart bag to throw everything away, I can't stop myself from gathering all the receipts and old labels and wrapping and napkins that accumulate in his car. I hold them in my lap. I use old water bottles to wet napkins to clean out his cupholders. I dig around in his backseat as far as I can reach without unbuckling my seatbelt, which Boyfriend will not let me do to clean.

We arrive at lunch with me looking like I just got out of a wind tunnel, carrying a huge wad of old papers, and a happy smile on my face.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. I blame you.