The spotless home

My mother's house was , for the strictest standards, what you could define spotless.
Many fanatic people oblige you to change your shoes when you go and come from the garden.
My mother did more.
She built a shower.
You not only had to change shoes, you also had to wash and change before entering.
My dog was not welcome in the house.
He was intelligent enough to understand it.
He tried to enter and after being scolded and shouted a few times he went to the door and touched it asking to go out.
For that day he had enough.
The books in the bookshelf had to be covered with paper of the same color.
To easily find them you had to glue a little withe label with a number.
The number was registered on a book with the title of it.
You had to check this book in order to find what you were looking for.
But in most cases that was useless.
If you had a visual memory for its size, you could easily find it: all books were ordered by their size, from the bigger to the smaller.
And beware to move them!
The bathtub and even the top of the water close were shining because covered by a layer of wax, which, as my mother said, added that touch of perfection to the lowest tools of the house...
You would think that a house like that was hell.
I assure you of the contrary.
Live in Paradise for a while and you'll miss it the rest of your life...