Exceptional Or OCD, though it should be CDO to be alphabetically right Obsessive Compulsive Disorder by Rachelle Allen      This is serious Contest Winner

All my duckies in a row, labelled neatly; set to go.    Wait! A speck on my clean floor! Mop it, wipe it, mop some more!   Look at that! Fuzz on my rug! Oh, gawd help me! IT'S A BUG!   INSECTICIDE!! MASS DOSES!! STRONG!! A bug inside?? That's VERY wrong!   I take a pill to calm myself But see a bread crumb on the shelf!   This is dire! This filth runs deep! Such disasters make me weep.   I try some yoga to relax, then see a staple on my Fax!!   Breathe in, breathe out, then hold and wait. Do not hyperventilate.   Just sit down and clear your mind. AAACK!! A dust mote on my blind!!!!   Wipe it down, then toss the rag. Get a new, fresh garbage bag.   I can't sit here and just chill; lots on my To Do List still!   To file, to organize, to shop, to cook, make lunches, dust more, mop.   Living flawlessly is hard! Try keeping leaves out of YOUR yard!   Snow on walkways? Nightmare City! Salt to clear it? Ugh! So gritty!   Then, our pets and all their fur! Rev the vacuum; hear it whir!   Get control and hold it tight. Make sure ev'rything's just right.   Keeping order is a must. I'm superior 'cause I fussed.   NO ONE's as "Just So" as me (though I know they long to be.)   The diff'rence is, I never rest. Then I can keep control the best.   Perfection is a marv'lous trait, something you should emulate!             Writing Prompt Write a poem of any type that treats a serious subject as humor. This is serious Contest Winner Recognized Author Notes I admit it; I am a bit of a fussbudget. And in my early dating years, I gravitated toward fussbudget men. One in particular told me we were a successful couple because we had "complementary anal-ism." He got booted to the curb, though, when he didn't approve of the way I had rolled his tube of Pepsodent and accused me of not having "toothpaste etiquette." The day before that, during a romantic moment, he'd said, "Tell me a fantasy." I began, "We're lying on the rug in your bedroom, in front of the fireplace, sharing a glass of Merlot--" He interrupted, "Merlot? But the rug in there is cream-colored! If the Merlot spills, it could stain it!" "It's a FANTASY!" I reminded him with a mix of scorn and incredulity in my voice. "Please. Can't you make it Pinot?" he, um, "whined." I knew then that our "anal-ism" wasn't quite as complementary as he'd imagined. And that's why the "toothpaste etiquette" zinger so soon afterward was the final straw.

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