My Home; My Boundaries

Prepare yourselves for another exciting adventure in "Displeasure with the Male I'm Dating!"

So, I have never been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but it's been acknowledged by doctors that I have some wonky Obsessive Compulsive behaviours. I think the worst of these is that I can't handle when dogs blow their coats. For those of you who don't know what that means, here's a totally random result from Google Images Random Google Image Search Result. Just doing that Google search is making my skin crawl and I need to go brush my dog. Okay, back. I love dogs, I have no qualms about the fact that I usually have at least a little dog hair on me. I don't focus on the fact that dogs almost always walk through their own urine and that they roll in the dirt and are generally pretty dirty. My dog sleeps in the bed with me. What I get stuck on is these horrible little clumps of undercoat, poking their way through the uppercoat, looking lumpy and messy and uncomfortable and...*retching noises*. If I see a dog blowing its coat, I *can't* not run my fingers through its fur and try to get those horrible clumps out. It was the worst part about working at a pet store. I had to abandon my register on a few occasions to "pet" a dog, which really meant pulling those atrocious clumps of fur off the dog. I readily admit that this is fucking weird and I have no explanation as to why it bothers me so much. I'm just extremely glad that my wonderful dog is a mix breed and somehow, though the two prominent breeds in his lineage are notorious coat blowers, he does minimal coat blowing. Good job, doggie genetics. Good job.

What the fuck does this have to do with the male I'm dating? Well shut up, I'm getting to it.

So, we've established I have tremendously random compulsions. While it doesn't bother me when the cat decides it's time to cuddle with me right after standing in her filthy litter box, I can't handle human feet being near where my head belongs. When sex spontaneously occurs, I try very hard to make sure our heads are at the head of the bed. When I can't manipulate things in that manner, I have to change pillow cases, at least, if not the sheets. Lately, I've been sleeping on my couch a lot. When the boyfriend comes over to visit, I sit on the end of the couch where my head goes when I sleep, he sits on the other end of the couch. I'll get up to grab something from the kitchen, come back, and his nasty, disgusting feet are on my fucking pillow.

The first time this happened, I lovingly said, "Hey, Honey, I have a hard time with feet on my pillow. Please don't do that."

Instead of giving me a nice, understanding response, he snapped at me, "My feet are clean!"

Well, no. They're not. But that's not the point. The point's not even that I'm irrationally upset about it. The fucking point is, I asked you not to do something in my home. It's not something dangerous or ridiculously complicated that I'm asking for. Don't put your feet on my pillow. Is it a small thing? Yep. Am I being overly neurotic? Probably. But to my fucked up little mind, this request is similar to "Hey, would you mind not breaking my things?" Because he comes in, puts his feet on my pillow, and I can't use it again. It is exactly like breaking my things, because it renders my a personal possession of mine useless until I can "repair" (clean) or replace it. And again, it doesn't fucking matter why. You're in my home. If tell you "you're welcome to this bag of M&Ms, but please don't eat the yellow ones," don't eat the yellow M&Ms. Why? Who the Hell cares?! I'm allowing you in my home and offering things that I've spent my money on to you, go with my weird ass little requests. It doesn't matter if I'm saying "Hey, let's play WiiBowling, but my TV was expensive so please don't throw the WiiMote at it when you have a bad frame" or "Hey, let's sit in my living room, but please don't make me do laundry unnecessarily."

So, when I say "Don't put your feet on my pillow," you have a couple of options:
A) Don't put your fucking feet on my pillow
B) If you must put your feet on the couch near where I put my head, move my pillow first
C) Accidentally put your feet on my pillow because you forgot about this "weird" thing of mine, offer to replace it or at least realize I don't have a washing machine and give me the $2.75 it'll take for me to go down the the laundrymat and wash my pillow that you covered in your foot bacteria. Or at least apologize for forgetting about the quirk and doing this thing that I've told you upsets me
D) Do it repeatedly for the sake of upsetting me because you think you're funny, watch me saw off your fucking feet Cary-Elwes-in-Saw style, and dump your newly amputated ass for being a disrespectful dick who refuses to respect my personal boundaries.

So...does anybody know where I might sell some feet on the internet?