Before our wedding, my fiancé’s dorm room didn’t accumulate typical guys’ cans-to-the-ceiling décor. He actually knew the laundry room’s location. Such details escaped me then. What woman in the movies melts into a man’s arms because he deposits his dirty socks into the hamper?

But as a newlywed, already in love with my new husband’s gorgeous blue eyes and cute grin, I found such behavior infinitely appealing. He didn’t exhibit the hamster behavior characteristic of males in my family. Unlike Dad, Hubby didn’t file papers on our car’s floor. I now could enter the bathroom without donning a hazmat suit, as I did when sharing one with three brothers.

What a neat guy.

The only difficulty? He was neater than I was.

My siblings had labeled me obsessive because I wore matching socks, I’d taken pride in my orderliness, but mine didn’t match his. We still don’t mesh. The good news: he helps with laundry and would no more leave Permapress to languish in the dryer than he would our grandkids. The bad news: he doesn’t get my closet organizational system.

“You have a system?” He hugs clean shirts as if afraid he’ll never see them again.

Certainly. I organize my closet according to good memories. Sparkly holiday outfits and mother-of-the-bride dresses dominate the front so I can enjoy them.

Hubby categorizes long- and short-sleeved shirts. He keeps black socks in one drawer, brown in another. He’ll wear blue/gray ensembles one day, brown/beige the next, until the Second Coming, and maybe afterward. This, he claims, frees brain cells to focus on work, with plenty left over to ponder world peace and the next World Series champion.

When a physician on night call, Hubby’s compulsions made sense. Few people can assemble a wearable outfit in the dark. Still, no woman in labor would worry whether he was wearing black socks with brown pants.

I assumed his good habits would transfer to our son. My hopes rose when our toddler begged to empty the garbage. They faded when he dumped trash baskets into the bathtub. He now lives with a neat wife, so he’s learned to take trash outside for pickup.

I’d hoped my girls could bring fresh neatnik Y chromosomes into the family through marriage. Neither son-in-law professed to be a Mr. Clean. Years later, they haven’t changed.

But they continue to love God, their wives and children — which include my six grandsons. Are any budding neatniks? Nope. Not one insists on Thomas the Tank Engine socks in one drawer, Spiderman socks in another. Still, the male line in our family is wonderful. What neat guys!

And I live with the neatest one of all.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Does your family line include neat guys?