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Oh jeezus, yeah.
I moved in with a neat freak chick for a few months back in the late 80s. Drove me insane. She'd literally have a damp cloth handy in case my glass left a drink ring on the coffee table.
You could eat off her bathroom floor, and she'd dust the top of the furnace once a week.
I suspect she was had a borderline compulsive disorder. I kinda' felt sorry for her sometimes.
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