One of my most enduring, picky and demanding habits has been the making of the bed. It is a non-negotiable for me, and if I have to choose (forced by bus timetabling, primarily) between eating breakfast and making my bed, I will make my bed. Every time. Given my penchant for breakfast, this is a big call.
The habit was developed extremely early on as a 4 year old growing up in rural Australia. One evening - after a blissful day which commenced with not making my bed - I snuggled my little toes down and wiggled to warm the cold bottom of my bed. Seconds later, what seemed like thousands (probably only about 10) of baby huntsman spiders ran over my legs (sparking instant and extreme arachnophobia in the young victim). Leaping out of bed and running to my mother for comfort, I was left cold. "That's what you get for not making your bed." I was aghast at her lack of concern, but there was nothing I could do or say: logic dictated that she was correct. Since that night, and the realisation that it literally is a jungle out there, I have adapted: I now make my bed with military precision. When someone sits on my bed, I irrationally wait for the second they jump off so I can straighten the bed. It is weird, but I believe this particular character trait has a solid foundation.
This doesn't mean that I'm not shocked when I see/hear that other people don't share my obsession. I also find pictures in catalogues of casually rumpled beds a huge turn-off, which sparks a rabid need to straighten things out of sympathy for the bed.