Filthy...

I'm working long hours and arrive home to find the house 'cleaned' by the cleaners. But as I wander around trying to unwind, I constantly spot bits of dirt that they've missed. I am annoyed and consult the Missus, who is now in semi-retirement and at her most relaxed for years.
I, however, am not relaxed and need to vent. So I do:
'They're cleaners but they don't fucking well clean.'
'They do most of it,' replies the Missus, more interested in watching TV.
'But there's dirt on the mantlepiece in the kitchen. That's basic cleaning because it's visible. It's not even advanced cleaning.'
'You really are like the girl in this relationship, aren't you?' replies the Missus.
'How?'
'You just see dirt everywhere. Then you get upset about it. Like a girl...'
'I'm not a girl. I'm just not a fucking slob.'

I am annoyed. Then I realise my OCD is taking over as I start to straighten things on the coffee table in the living room. Straight lines for everything. Everything in straight lines. With no dirt. That will make the world a better place...