For almost 40 years I have shared with my wife the chores of loading and unloading the dishwasher. I’ve hated every single second of this responsibility. I’d rather clean the toilet with my toothbrush, poke a bees’ nest with a broom handle or clean out the gutters with a teaspoon.
Last week my wife informed me that I was now forever relieved of dishwasher duty.
“Just scrape the dishes and stack them in the sink,” she told me. “You’re terrible at loading and it seems to get worse by the day. Ever wonder why when you unload the dishes in the morning, everything you flung into the machine willy-nilly has miraculously lined up perfectly in the appropriate slots? Who do you think did that?”
“Well, it takes almost an hour to run a load of dishes and I hear a lot of odd noises, so I assumed a mechanical realignment was one of the wash cycles.”
“You just toss the dishes in, with no regard for how the jets spray. Why would you expect that to work?”
“Mary Ellen, I load the dishwasher like I load our Maytag. I don’t put socks in one part of the washing machine, then my pants in another. Why would I do that with cups and saucers?”
Mary Ellen claims I was getting progressively worse at unloading, as well. I simply dump the entire utensil holder into the kitchen drawer. Clankety-clank: mission accomplished. My wife has this odd notion that you should sort the knives, spoons and forks into their own compartments. She wants them separated—even before we set the table. What kind of a waste of time is that? Mary Ellen also thinks the soup bowls, salad plates and cups should be placed in the cupboard into matching individual stacks. Where’s the challenge in that architectural structure?
She also says I’ve been messing up the inside of our fridge. Apparently, again, everything has its proper place. Who knew? So that’s why the mustard has been moving from the top shelf to the fridge door and why heads of lettuce have often crept south, ending up in this thing Mary Ellen says is called the “vegetable bin.” Why was I never informed of this accessory? Milk, I have learned, should always be on the top shelf. Jars of sauces and prepared foods have to go on the third shelf. That’s gotta be wrong, because when I was six, I’d swear the pickles were always staring me right in the face. Going eye to eye with Kosher dills goes back to the Old Testament.
So, I am no longer permitted to load or unload the dishwasher. And now I’ll leave the pickles, mustard and cream cheese on the counter so my wife can put them in their proper resting place. I may even have a shot at never doing laundry again. But I am not going to get complacent about my lack of accomplishments. There are beds not to be made and rugs not to be vacuumed. I’m very proud of myself. I’m doing the worst I can.
