Are you a lister? My wife’s a lister. She’s the Grand Master of Listers. And not just the visible kind, like the ones you find scribbled on a piece of paper. She has invisible ones that only she can see.

It started with the grocery list. Fair enough. I can’t keep two drink orders in my head, so I definitely need a list for food supplies. But then I discovered there was another list. This one started showing up, bright and early, on Saturday mornings. Hand-written, it was ever so casually left on the dining table, right by my usual designated chair. It came with an ominous title: To Do.

I assumed it was her list, since she’d written it. No, no, no. It was our list.

Unbeknownst to me, Saturdays were for Getting Things Done. As God intended. Or some such loony theory.

I was under the impression that Saturday was for socializing and having fun. But then I come from the Land of the Koala. Yvette was born in the Land of the Squirrel. She was also a Brownie, and still lives by the motto, “Be Prepared.” If disaster strikes, take my advice, find Yvette. She will have everything you need to endure the crisis, whatever it may be. And what she doesn’t have, she will know where and how to acquire, in the most efficient manner possible. Also, she will probably hand you a list.

Maybe it’s a hangover from a Catholic upbringing, this need to do unpleasant chores before any fun can be had. Like a penance, but paid in advance. Just in case. Because you should always be prepared.

As a result, we never, ever have breakfast in bed. Not even on vacation. Don’t get me wrong—she will not hesitate to make a divine omelette and a cup of my favorite Earl Grey. But I have a squirrel’s-chance-on-an-eight-lane-highway that she’s bringing it to me in bed.

Instead, she will crack the door open, just enough to ensure that I get a whiff of butter sizzling in a pan. She knows damn well that if the smell doesn’t get me up, Oscar soon will. She’s diabolical. She’s learned that it’s easier and faster to coax this little koala out of slumber than to attempt to push her. So, I guess you might say it’s a win-win.

But back to the list obsession. We’ve discussed (okay, argued over) this compulsion of hers for years. I’ve watched her grow anxious or depressed when she fails (her words) to complete everything on her list. She claims that writing up a list brings her peace as it provides a vision (some might argue, an illusion) of order. She seems to derive immense self-satisfaction in crossing things off the list. So I always let her do that part.

Lately I’d noticed that the lists had grown shorter. Some weekends, they disappeared completely. We still got things done, but without that infernal list. I thought she was finally over it. But last Saturday, out of curiosity, I asked, “By any chance have you some secret plans for our weekend that I have yet to hear about?”

Knock me over with a feather, she started reeling off a verbal list. Yep, the list was alive and well, only now it was invisible! This was worse than before. Now I could be ambushed at any point in the day by “one more thing.”  I had no way of knowing what item we were up to on the list. i.e. how much longer before we could relax. Now I was anxious.

So we’ve gone back to the written lists. With one important change: I’ve convinced her to remove one or two items from the list and replace it with a fun activity or reward. Now the list is my friend too.