OCD And The Sunday Papers

As someone with an ‘orderer’ form of OCD, the very thing that’s guaranteed to wind me up is the Sunday papers.  And unfortunately, with unfailing regularity – following his constitutional in the park, my husband does insist on bringing home The Sunday Times – possibly the worst contender of its kind.  Ah those pages that open and rustle like great annoying wings (my husband seems to take an especial delight in opening and rustling them as noisily as possible), those pesky direct mail drop-ins, and sections, sections, sections.  All becoming soggy and strewn and mostly unread, and hanging around until it’s time for the next insurmountable batch on the subsequent Sunday.

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