It’s weird being the clean one in a relationship.

This is a real life shot of our dresser. The drawers on the left are mine. We share the mess on top — it’s mostly hers, though I will proudly claim the aerobee.

I never thought I would be the one to ask, “can you please clean up this pile?”

Seeing Beth’s room in the early chapters of our love story should have been clear warning. I must have been too smitten to realize at the time this is something she’d likely carry around her entire life.

Far from a neat-freak, it takes concerted effort for me to keep my dresser, desk, and any other surface to become buried in notes, random gadgets, articles of clothing, and whatever found its way into my pocket that day.

I have to fight it, because it’s vital for me to keep somewhat organized. My brain is already in too much disarray, I must minimize any further hindrances.

Beth, on the other hand, thrives among her towers of dishevelment. Not only does she not get flustered and frustrated trying to find things, she often locates things I’ve lost track of. Granted, many of those items she covered up with her stuff…

So, here we are. Somehow, I’m the clean one, which is completely unexpected. She’s a master at being loving and affectionate, so I’ll let the mess slide.