Clutter makes me crazy. At least once a day my husband has to ask me where I “filed” his keys (or wallet or papers or what have you) that he put on the counter 30 seconds ago. Luckily for me, he finds this behavior just slightly more endearing than he finds it annoying.
And yet, one of the most important jobs of a Navy wife is corralling the endless amounts of crap your husband brings home. Perfect for an orderly-living-space-crazed nut like me. Our office/guest bedroom stores the bulk of said crap, and the shelves I bought to house all of it have just become a tossing target.
So with an hour and the help of some fabric bins, I attacked the offending nautical chaos.
Nevermind that the chaos will most likely return in about a week, and I will have to answer the question “Hey, where did you file my…?” even more than usual. But that won’t spoil my neurotic satisfaction.
(This couple has the opposite problem.)