Tolerate – to fall in love: How to calm down the “inner perfectionist”

Actually, it’s hard to call me a perfectionist. The hairdresser herself calls to remind about the regrown roots. Pumpkin rotted in my fridge. I washed white clothes with red socks and wore pink for a long time, like a Barbie.

But everything changed when it came to the newly acquired living space. Here I decided not to allow imperfections. I ran after builders with a millimeter ruler, spent a fortune on Italian porcelain stoneware, yelled at the tiler that this shade of grout was illegal, argued on a plumbing forum about which pipes are better to use, worried for three nights because parquet electric lighting can “give out the wrong color”, and when my boyfriend asked about my fantasies, she blurted out right in bed: “I dream of finding the right Murano glass chandelier! You know, she should be so lacy, but not too lacy. I’ll explain now!”

I don’t know what came over me. Each guest quickly realized that our relationship would change dramatically if he put a cup of coffee right on the coffee table, ignoring the stand. My relatives began to say that I was obsessed with interior design, although some people thought I was just obsessed. Therefore, the words of the fireplace seller drove me into a rage. “Never,” I croaked softly to him. – I will never allow a gap of one and a half centimeters between the portal and the wall. You do not understand how serious and fundamental a question this is. I will either saw off the plinth or cut out the bottom in your product. You will see. I won’t leave it like that. And don’t say that I’m exaggerating everything! No, no and NO!”

Likewise with love. First, you pick a man meticulously, go on dates with a clear list of requirements: abs, graduate degrees, and a mom living a thousand kilometers away. You want Mr. Ideal, 11 points on a 10-point scale. You can reject a gentleman if you see a hair peeking out of his nostril. You are worried: will a man fit into your life as well as a fireplace into an interior.

And I’m also strict with myself – before each meeting you put your bangs for half a day. And then you move in and after a month of shaking (“Ah, are my home clothes beautiful enough? Have the roots grown?”), You finally “let go.” You walk around the house disheveled, in pajamas with dolphins. Stop hiding your anti-cellulite cream. You grumble at your precious: “You always snore!” and you smile at his answers: “Not always, but only at night!” You don’t flinch when it drips popsicles onto your model floor.

It seems that the saying “Suffer – fall in love” is not devoid of meaning. She, apparently, is guided by cunning furniture sellers who offer: “Let this chair stand with you for a couple of weeks, and if you don’t like it, we will take it and return the money.” And even if at first you doubt – after all, the shape of the chair is a little not what you need – then after a few days you already think: “Well, okay, and so it will do.” And a month later, you find this chair beautiful at all and you are not going to give it away. It became yours during this time – that’s what happened. The fireplace portal, loosely adjoining the wall, is also yours, your own, why cut it, what nonsense. And the man, whose belly appears quite clearly under the shirt, is also yours. Everything is yours, beloved. Yes, not perfect. But where can you find perfection? Perhaps in paradise. And you – at home.