Humor

I Picked The Wrong Time To Be A Control Freak

Everything will be fine if you just do what I say.

Get thee behind me, Satan. (Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash)

How did it start? Maybe a parent with a hair-trigger spankin’ hand. Maybe unbalanced gut flora, which researchers now find may be the culprit behind anxiety and other mental disorders.

Maybe it’s just because I’m an only child and never had to concede territory when threatened with farts, boogers, inside-out eyelids or pendulous strings of spit.

Whatever it was, I grew up to be an adult with a need for order and obedience that makes Stalin look like a hippie.

I can’t say being a control freak has made me popular. Two failed marriages can attest to that. But I’m a good employee. I’m detail-oriented, conscientious, a workaholic. Obsessive proofreader. Defenestrator of stinky banana peels. Draconian overseer of supplies and proper recycling procedures. Corrector of improper toilet-roll installation. Shutter-offer of unnecessary lights.

Pandemic? I was born for this shit.

I’ve never met a rule I couldn’t follow. Unfortunately, I’m surrounded by normal people who aren’t quite as “uptight”, shall we say, about avoiding a lingering death by way of nightmare horror virus.