The neat genes

By: LOUISE ESOLA - Staff Writer | Friday, December 16, 2005 10:53 PM PST ∞

I have an aunt who once, during a irrational fit of tidying the home, threw in the trash the remote control to the family room TV set because it was placed on the couch and not in its rightful spot: neatly Velcroed in its place at the corner of the coffee table.

My mother once tossed out of our front door my brothers' expensive Atari video game console and joysticks ---- the 1980s version of today's "Xbox" video game station ---- because the boys left the wires and joysticks in a tangled mess on the carpet in front of the TV.

This was apparently the last straw after la mama had told them repeatedly, in two languages so that there was to be no confusion, to neatly store such items on the shelf below the TV when not in use.

My poor brothers were sad and weepy when they saw hours of pure enjoyment bang and break down the concrete steps outside of our Philadelphia row house.

Later on, la mama threatened to do the same thing with my school books if I did not put them back in my school bag, which would also wind up on the sidewalk if it did not go in my bedroom.

You see, I come from a line of women psychologists might describe as a unique cocktail of Type A personality mixed with a swig of obsessive-compulsive disorder, with a twist of good old-fashioned looney, and a dash of hot-tempered Latina. Shaken, not stirred.

And I, like the women I share strands of DNA with, try to maintain a tidy household. Like the double chin and big hips that will eventually take shape, these are not exactly welcomed genetics.

As for Donkey Kong ---- the husband who I am sure will never want his name published after all this ---- he has the habits of pig in a pen.

I often tell Mr. Kong, who returns from work about an hour before I do, that I know precisely what he did from the time he puts the key in the doorknob to the time I arrive home.

Hidden surveillance system? Psychic powers? FBI forensics training? Nope.

Like Hansel and Gretel, I follow the bread crumbs. In some instances, literally.

The striped tie, followed by the stiff-collared shirt, get tossed over the dining room chair to the left of the front door. Then the first item of mail is opened and put aside, on the table next to the door. Then the next piece of mail is placed on the dining room cabinet en route to the bathroom.

I often find more mail on the bed, which is next to the bathroom.

Almost everyday I can count on a few cards and catalogues of junk mail on the kitchen counter top, which is where Donkey Kong makes ---- but doesn't eat ---- his post-work snack.

He usually consumes his snack in the living room, where I later find an empty soda can and, you got it, crumbs. Without X-ray vision, I know what he ate. If it came in a wrapper, I can usually spot it on the counter top next to the junk mail.

Upon my arrival, I first notice the shirt on the chair and not in the hamper.

My jaw tightens. I frown. I sort of clench my teeth, with an under bite that ---- combined with my big eyes and long locks ---- make me look like a brooding Pekingese.

In this fashion, I proceed to pick things up, put things in their place.

Donkey Kong remains calm. He tells me that tidiness is relative. He says I always point out the bad. Like, if his shoes are in the living room, paired together next to the couch, it's OK because at least they are not scattered about.

Me? I want them in the closet, ideally Velcroed to a shoe rack.

Sweetheart, you are such a pessimist, he often says. You know, the glass-is-always-half-empty type.

Well, you know what I say to that? What's that glass doing there? Are you gonna drink that or what?

I have yet to torpedo items out of my front door, but I am pretty sure it's inevitable, and, sadly, genetically predetermined.

Staff writer Louise Esola can be reached at lesola@nctimes.com.

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