Most couples today focus on the “for better” and completely disregard the “for worse” until it stares up at them from the sink - wearing a two-day old crust with the stench of dirty feet. That's right, the dishes. Men and women have been dueling it out over the dishes for decades and the consensus seems to be: whoever can't stand the pile up the most, rolls up her sleeves and digs in. Notice I said "her." Because women are more likely to get suckered into the deal; we are, usually, the more hygienic, housework-conscious of the sexes. Why? Is it nature or nurture? All I know is that necessity is the MOTHER of invention, and you know the FATHER in that adage is absentee.
Okay, to personalize this rant, I am the official dishwasher in my family. My husband is kind, friendly, generous, easy-going, helpful, funny, loving and adorable. But is all that supposed to excuse him from dish night every night? Listen, he will prepare his lunch right on the countertop and put his utensils in the sink, and not even realize that the extra spoon he just inserted caused the heap already there to topple over. Water begins dribbling over the side of the sink as dishes clatter in every direction and still he walks away. He's like one of those hit and run dish throwers, moving away from the scene of the crime with speed and determination, and when the arresting officer - that's me - points to the accident and bellows "where were you on the night of …,” he innocently replies, "oh, is something wrong?”
Yes, there is something wrong. There are no self-cleaning sinks and the dishes will not evaporate into thin air if you just ignore them. Sometimes I paint an angry message on a plate in condiments simply to see if he'll notice. He doesn't. Now, I cook according to how many dishes I'll have to wash afterwards. Meatballs and spaghetti? Uh, uh. I would need a food processor and three pots, several utensils for stirring, etc. But lasagna is a one-pan meal, so it's become a staple. When my husband complains, I simply say, “will you wash the dishes,” and he promptly changes tactics and admits that he loves lasagna.
Now, please note that I love my husband deeply and appreciate all his loving gestures, and wouldn't consider a trade like the NFL does for a more domestically inclined partner. My husband is a wonderful man; he works as a Chaplain at a hospital while I toil at home as a freelance writer. So I am better acquainted with my dishes, simply because I spend more time with them. At least, that's his rationale. My dishes are my friends because I take a meeting with them sometimes twice a day.
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So basically we're at a standstill. I do the dishes and he's a disinterested bystander. But we're still in the early stages of our marriage and I haven't figured out all the tricks of the trade. However, I am boning up. I'm reading manuals. All right, some are for dog training but the principle's the same. I'm practicing my technique. I'm using positive reinforcement. And someday, in the not too distant future, I know my husband will be in the kitchen up to his elbows in suds. Until then, I'll be looking at my reflection at the bottom of the sink.
