Yes, I’m Pedantic

And the world is better for it

I recently moved into a new apartment. It’s a lovely ground-floor studio with an enchanting little garden in the back. All in all, a marked step up from my previous experiences living in various student dorms, and a great way to usher in this post-graduate chapter of my life.

Although I’m still only renting the place, with the move came a certain sense of ownership. Everywhere else I’ve lived thus far, in the back of my mind, I knew it was only temporary. Here, even though I by no means own the place, I don’t feel like a tenant. And with that novel sense of ownership, crept another, more familiar sensation: everything had to be perfect.

Like a doting parent smothering their child with overprotective love, I plunged myself into making sure every single thing was just as I wanted it to be. My powers of perception were heightened, and everywhere my scrutinizing gaze fell, my judgment was pitiless and my retribution swift:
Why doesn’t that drawer open smoothly? The doors are a bit squeaky. The cold water valve in the kitchen doesn’t turn easily. The cabinets bang when they close. Even the garden wasn’t spared my wrath.

And so, like Cinderella on steroids, I was unleashed. Replace the slides, Cinderelly. Oil the hinges, Cinderelly. Pad the cabinets, Cinderelly…