What's going on with that cheese?

Most of you know that I am not a neat freak. I spent most of my life listening to my parents tell me that they would love to park a dumpster outside of my window and toss everything I own into it. Clutter does not bother me. I wish it did, and I wish that I actually cared, but I just don't. Laundry left in the dryer (when I actually use a dryer-- I'm a fan of clotheslines), dishes in the sink, etc., I don't worry about it. There are so many things in this world to worry about. 

My siblings will corroborate that our mother is the opposite. We could never win growing up. One pillow out of place and the whole house was deemed a disaster area. I appreciate that she is the way she is while also acknowledging that I never will be. A dirty fork in the sink will never be the cause of a sleepless night. While I know that I probably need a partner to balance me out a bit, I know I can't sustain a relationship with someone on the OCD side of things.

"What's going on with that cheese in the casserole dish?"

"Um, I just finished eating it. I'm probably going to eat the rest for breakfast. Why?"

"Well, I was just wondering if I was going to wake up tomorrow and find it still on the counter."

"No, I'm taking it to work for breakfast."

"So you're going to leave it out all night? Is that a good idea?"

I was over at Mr. Burgerman's. He eats very late (like 10pm). I cannot do that. I each lunch at 11:30 am religiously every day. At that time of evening, my blood sugar is crashing and I turn into the Exorcist (minus the pea soup). I opted to bring a hunk of brie and some bread (a favorite standby) over for my own dinner. I love brie. I love it melted. It's the best of the dairy worlds... butter and cheese. Divinity. We're one of the few countries in the world that imposes insane food safety practices. A piece of cheese left out overnight isn't going to kill anyone (despite the public service announcements that say otherwise). If that were the case, I'd be dead ages ago. When I travelled around Europe I frequently had a piece of cheese, fruit, and bread in my backpack... for days. But this wasn't about food safety. It was about the cheese left for mere moments on the counter. And it was a very passive-aggressive way to get me to clean it up. 

I did clean up the cheese because I understand the what he was feeling was the same anxiety my mother always felt when something was out of place. On the same note, it was a clear sign (if the other issues weren't enough) that Mr. Burgerman was not Mr. Perfect-for-Me. I love my mom, but I don't want to be married to her.