Mother, Germs.

 Something you wrote about your "germaphobe" mother and her cleaning has stuck with me for some reason. I grew up in quite a different mind set. I got the impression from my mother that encountering dirt and germs was good for you, it jump-started or exercised your immune system. At various times, Mother would employ a black woman to clean the house; but she always found fault with what they did and how they did it. She did enjoy playing "lady bountiful" providing little treats for one of them, Bertha. But she complained about Bertha, too. After my father died, my sister, in a bout of sheer efficiency, found a cleaning service to come to that house out on the lake and clean it. One time, I was told, the woman in charge brought a man who changed light bulbs and did other minor maintenance. Shortly afterwards, the cleaning service was fired or quit, I never knew which. Mother's complaint: they used too many paper towels. 

Luke has gotten weird about paper towels, but I ignore it. He has his reasons, and he's much more likely to fume about it quietly than to confront or discuss it. When we do talk about quirks, his or mine, we end up laughing most of the time. He's always been ready to joke about our paranoid belief that "you did that on purpose!"