Dear Clean People of the World,

You make me uncomfortable. I tiptoe around you. Its weird because I first typed "I have to tiptoe around you", but that's not necessarily true. I'm just always worried you're silently judging. You probably are.

You make me feel weird about being my messy dirty self. And this is unfair because we don't do that to any of you. We usually provide you with validation, whereas you provide us with criticism. Oh how I wish it were the other way around! Life would be so much easier if I could walk into a clean room and frown and say, "This room is clean. Can you mess it up a little?"

Also weird is how modern culture projects you all to be the better of the batch. This makes little to no sense to me. Whoever decided you were better was probably a neat person. When I imagine a clean someone in my head, I imagine you with slightly bigger eyes than everyone else, so it's easier for you to spot out every speck of dust and misalignment in the room. And always nervous. Fidgeting with your fingers. Runs to the bathroom every five minutes to wash your hands, et cetera. Can you tell? I don't like you.

I mean, what's so bad about messy people? We're easygoing, we don't judge! And any harm that actually comes from being messy are things we have to deal with, not you. For example, sometimes it does get a little difficult to be organized. When I'm in a rush and I need to find something but it's under a pile of arbitrarily stacked objects, it can be frustrating, and I think to myself, this weekend I'm really going to donate some clothes I haven't worn since 2008. This weekend I will vacuum (so daunting). And then I don't. But that's okay, because I can deal with it. But you? Nooo-oo.

This is a passive aggressive letter of complaint to all the clean people in my life. Ironically enough, all the closest people in my life are super clean neat freaks who love coming into my room and commenting on messes I've made throughout various stages of my life. Especially my parents. They're both clean, and yet the combination of their genes created me. Is genetics a myth or are my clean genes waiting till I turn 30 to spring up? I hear women go through a complete 180 in their thirties. Oh and my friends--they are all very organized people too. Which leads me to inquire: is it that I attract them, or that I'm attracted to them? The latter makes no sense because of everything preceding this paragraph.

OR, SADISM?

I don't know how to end this. If it's meant to be, it'll be.

Guichanaso.