Every morning at about nine-o-clock, a little ray of sunshine comes through the window of my kitchen and ruins my life. It taunts me, mocks me and points a gleaming spotlight directly on my flaws, exposing them to the world.

I am not sure if that beam of light is a random act of nature or a call to action. All I know is that it shines right on what I thought was my relatively clean floor, clearly magnifying a shocking amount of dog hair, fuzz, crumbs and dirt.

Each time this truth is revealed, I grimace and run to the laundry room to grab the broom, mop and dustpan. As the shaft of light moves around the room, I follow it, frantically extracting the newly discovered filth.Some days, I wonder if my reaction to this exposure is healthy. Do a few crumbs really matter in the whole scheme of things? Is there something wrong with me because I want my floor to be clean? Am I anal-retentive? Do I have OCD?Over the years, philosophies on the importance of cleanliness have run the gamut. The best-known adage, “cleanliness is next to godliness,” has biblical roots, and similar proverbs about the spiritual benefits of being physically clean are found in both the Talmud and the Koran.

Now that Leprosy and The Plague are no longer worries, the maxims of modern society attach a negative stigma to cleanliness — as if it were a disease itself. Refrigerator magnets tell us, “Immaculate homes are run by dull women.” Paperweights and coffee cups suggest, “An untidy desk is a sign of genius.”

Somewhere in the 1980s, use of the Freudian term “anal retentive” became trendy, showing up in “you might be” lists and Saturday Night Live skits making fun of people who thrive on order and control. Similarly, the psychological label “obsessive-compulsive disorder” has become a part of pop culture; it is the primary feature in TV shows like Monk, Obsessed and The OCD Project.

During bunco last week, some wives and I chatted during a break in play.

“I hate dusting,” I said, and a few others agreed.

“How about stubble in the sink? Drives me crazy.”

“Hair on the bathroom floor is the worst,” another wife said, and we nodded.

The banter went on, covering issues such as the dehydrated peas and carrots under the fridge, dust on the fan blades, unmentionable substances behind the toilet seat and gloppy hairballs in the drains. We all agreed there is nothing more satisfying than putting the crevice tool on a Shop Vac and sucking it all up – the dust, the hair, the old candy wrappers under our teenage sons’ beds and the peanuts between the couch cushions. None of us was ashamed or embarrassed to admit it – we like our houses to be clean and tidy. 

That truth is illuminated every day by that pesky little ray of sunlight and, as long as the sun continues to shine, I will run and get my broom.

Lisa Smith Molinari is a free-lance writer and new contributor to Houston Woman Magazine. (http://www.themeatandpotatoesoflife.com)

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