The world is comprised of two types of people: those who make their beds in the morning and those who do not. I fall into the former category to the point of compulsion.
It sets the tone for the day, my mother would tell me growing up. And she was totally right. You start off organized and when you come home you return to order.
As a kid, rather than technically making my bed each day, I found a loophole. Instead of getting under the sheets each night I kept an extra comforter folded up in the 2ft space between my bed and the wall and each night I would sleep on top of my made-up bed and in the morning I would just fold up the extra comforter and head off to school. In hindsight, this probably was not the best thing for the regular or my “show” comforter as it were, but I digress.
Knowing that my bed is unmade, even if I’m not in the house, irks me. A feeling of sloth just pervades my day. So I don’t do it.
And I’m not even envious of those who can; I want to change them, to convince them that my way is the right way and their days and lives will be better once they’re on board. It’s the control freak in me.
It’s not to the point where I can’t associate with you if you don’t make your bed or anything like that, just don’t ask me to come over when it’s not. Or, like my mother said, just close your door so I don’t have to see it.