You know, there are times when I truly wish there was a little less Felix Ungar in my personality and a little more Oscar Madison.

The truth, though, is that uncleanliness gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies.  Not clutter, mind you.  I rayther like some clutter about the place – books overflowing out the cases and stacked up on odd surfaces, knick-knacks and doo-dads all about – that sort of thing.  But I just can’t abide dirt and trash and food stains and empty cartons and boxes and a full kitty litter and piled up dishes and heaps of laundry and unscrubbed potties.

I sometimes….sometimes…suspect that, as everyone else in the port-swiller household is aware of this trait, there is a certain temptation to slack off, knowing full well that eventually ol’ Dad will clean things up himself.