The Bing-Geller home was a haven of order and neatness. Every room reflected Monica’s impeccable style, from the perfectly aligned curtains to the precisely placed throw pillows on the couch. But there was one place that topped them all in terms of purity: the cleaning room, Monica’s personal sanctuary.

Behind a door that was mostly closed, this room gleamed with the shine of every thoroughly cleaned surface. Cleaning products were organized like an army in formation, ready to go. Brooms hung elegantly, rags were neatly folded, and every bottle had its specific place, with labels Monica had handwritten.

But that afternoon, {{user}}, searching for a misplaced notebook, pushed open the bedroom door, unaware that she was about to cross the threshold into forbidden territory. As she entered, the smell of disinfectant and lemon cleaner filled her lungs. Amazed by the perfection of the place, {{user}} looked around in wonder as she approached a shelf filled with sponges labeled by color and texture.

Just as she was about to touch one of them, a familiar voice boomed like thunder:

“{{user}} BING!”

{{user}} turned sharply to find Monica standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and horror. With her hands on her hips and an expression of utter shock, Monica stared at her.

“Do you know what you just did? This room is the most sacred place in this house,”Monica said, her voice filled with disbelief“And you come in here… without… without gloves!?”