117 Dirt Dishes redux
Dear Wally:
Last week you wrote a column about dishes that made me laugh
hard (thank you!), but that also brought up some deep feelings of resentment
within my own marriage. I will withhold
my name because my spouse reads this paper (and especially this column) but I
wonder if you will share some more serious thoughts on this matter. I hate that this job of dishes has fallen to
me and that he never helps with them.
Instead, he spends his time on the internet when I’m doing them.
-Anonymous
Dear Anonymous:
The ‘dishes in the sink’ issue is a touchy one in plenty of
relationships. They are just so
…there. Front and center. Dishes have an annoyingly infinite tendency-
No sooner are they ‘done’ then they are used and need to be ‘done’ again. (This unattainable sense of task-completion
keeps me from ever getting a job in the Post Office which, like doing the
dishes, is a job that can never be finished and the best you can hope for is
that some angry dog doesn’t bite you in the ass).
But back to your sink.
The issue seems to be a reasonable metaphor for the waxing dysfunction
and waning satisfaction in intra-couple communications and perceived respect, as a function of time. I say perceived, because one may interpret
spousally ignored dishes as a big F –U , (actually, ‘F –ME’) but such a crime of incompletion or timing
(“I will get to the dishes later honey, just not now…”) may not actually come with the all-important
and incriminating sense of intent that we think is there. But that’s where the communication piece is
failing. Claw away that sill-rot, soon,
ok? That means talking AND listening.
Which God knows I know, is easier said than done.
I also say ‘as a function of time’ because the willingness
of mutual co-operation decays at some asymptotic rate as we chug this marriage train away from
the ol’ Gare de la Honeymoon . We get
set in our ways. We take communication
and division of labor for granted as the grit of life darkens the once shiny
grout. Just look at Grandpa and Grandma
for Chrissake. They barely say hello to
each other anymore! (Ok that’s not
fair-- Grandma can’t see and Grandpa can’t hear. And neither have any teeth).
Is it the case that domestic ‘willingness’ is inversely
proportional to TSM (time spent married)?
I never thought I’d say it, but
sometimes math helps. (Do you hear me
Ms. Williams, my erstwhile, super hot 7th grade math teacher on whom
I had a crush and might still if you weren’t in a nursing home or dead by now
all these years later??)
Here’s the formula I’ve hammered out: TSM(d)/4 x (1/2 y)2= -W
Wherein:
TSM = hours married times
‘d’ (the ½ life of Carbon 14, or the universal constant for ‘decay’),
y= average blood pressure in cc’s of both spouses at any
given instant.
W= the universal constant for ‘willingness’ measured in
parts per million. (Anything above
322ppm means you’ll get help in the kitchen.
Anything below 54 and you better hire a cleaning service or divorce
lawyer right now).
Don’t ya think sometimes it just helps to sit in a dark corner
with a warm ‘n’ fuzzy math formula and cup of herbal tea?? (though that tends to lead to even more
dishes).
Personally, I hate looking at dishes in the sink, but I do
the enjoy process of getting them
there. When I start doing them, though,
it’s actually not such a bad chore. The
water is warm and soothing . The soap is
slippery and sensual. There’s a sense of
task-completion and also a strange juxtaposition of kinetics (swaying, anyway)
without the physical exertion of actual movement. Kinda like trying your boat to the dock and
putting her in forward gear.
It’s also a bit of a sanctuary in the sense that 1) you will
likely be quickly left to your own inner self for the 10 minutes it takes to do
them. (You can be damn sure housemates
or spouses will be scarce when the dish soap comes out.) And 2) you won’t hear the snoring in the
other room and the drone of TV will fold into the white noise spectrum spectrum
handsomely.
Some people go to spas and pay a lot of money for the
solitude of sensory deprivation that you
get for free every night.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that IF you can sneak
around the perception that doing dishes is a task, a burden, and a source of
resentment, THEN you might be able to
celebrate the opportunity in it, and do the dishes only (as super cool thinker
most of the time Byron Katie says) because YOU WANT to do them, not because you
feel they need to be done.
Now, before you crumple this column up and throw it at my
stupid head, can you at least consider that your husband is giving you the
gilded GIFT of sanctuary and alone-time as humanely as he can? Selfless (snoring) bastard! Your Smookems! Go over and give that big galoo a hug. And another grilled cheese.
I’m only spinning it this way, this week, because we both know there’s no changing him
at this point so we might as well use what you have got.
On the other hand, maybe it’s time for paper plates? But then you’d have to deal with someone
taking out the trash…Hmmmm. Nevermind.
Well, good luck with that…
-Wally
-Got a question for our advice columnist or just want to
give him the gift of serenity by letting him do your dishes while you and your
husband lounge on the sofa and plow in the bon-bons? Email him at cwn4@aol.com
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