One of my father's traits that used to absolutely drive me around the bend was his deep and profound conviction that if I would just do things his way, all problems would be solved. My fury went beyond the egoism of it; it was the condescension.
Yesterday I talked a complete stranger into making a striped scarf, only to be granted veto power on her color combinations. I talked an acquaintance into not buying another ball of yarn, and talked a friend into modifying her pattern to my suggestion. All in the space of less than three hours.
Today I convinced a chaotically disorganized student that he needed to go buy a stack of color-coded pocket folders, one for each of his classes. As I was showing him to put his notes in the left pocket, his paper on the right, and his syllabus in a vinyl sheet in the middle, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.
It's all kind of freaking me out. My only saving thought is knowing that, while I love FlyLady, she's not for everyone.