62. November 7th, 2010 Picture.

 Ratty is a superior neat freak.  He is always picking up things, asking if I'm done with my glass (which I never am), and puttering around organizing.  His magazines go in the same spot, in alphabetical order, his Netflix movies are on his DVD player at a right angle and he has the most organized collection of magnets on his fridge I've ever seen.  He has been known to Lysol the table while I'm still eating 'oh can you just pick up your plate for a minute?'.  I am sure that he loves living on his own, knowing that things will always be neat and tidy.  That is, until I come over.

I manage to use every single fork he owns, which isn't saying a lot since he only has 2.  We go through pint glasses, champagne flutes and plates faster than should be humanly possible.  They all stack up in the sink and we only wash them when we've completely run out.  By the time Sunday rolls around, he is probably glad to be rid of me so his life can go back to its rightful organized balance.  He can keep the apartment as clean and as dark as he wants.  When I go over, I open all the blinds, I love natural light, and this drives Ratty berserk, literally absolutely berserk.  If it's sunny out, I want to see it.  If it's nighttime, I want a few lights on, so I don't feel the overwhelming urge to fall asleep mid sentence.  Ratty likes to be enclosed in a cave, where the mere thought of natural light would turn him to stone. 

So anyway, I ruin Ratty's apartment when I go over, but I am totally okay with it.