I’ve thought of writing about my problem with doing the dishes for some time. Every time I think about it, I manage to stop myself. Because it’s so ridiculous. And embarrassing. And trivial. And mentally inept. However, then it occurred to me that someone else might have a similar problem and it would be like a public service to write about it.
Maybe it would help someone! Make them feel less weird! Or maybe it would help me if you told me you had a similar problem so that I would feel less weird! Or maybe you have no such problem and I’m going to find out how weird I really am.
I’m fragile, please don’t be mean.
I’m not really fragile, but please don’t be mean anyway.
So I decided to write about it in spite of the fact that it’s really weird, mostly because I think it might be liberating! I’ve never told ANYONE about this little problem. Nobody I’ve ever lived with, married, given birth to, no one.
And yet I am telling you, dear readers.
I’m not sure when this little problem started, but I think it was soon after I got married. You know, when I started having to do the dishes all the time. You know that tray or whatever it’s called where you put the flatware? Has all those little spots and you stick the flatware in there? Yeah, that, whatever it’s called.
I’m sure most people just stick the flatware in there however it fits, wherever it fits. Me, no. I can’t do that. I have to put one piece of flatware in each spot. One. In each. Until all the spots are filled up. THEN and ONLY THEN can I put a second or third in the same spot. Now, it doesn’t matter how or where I put the additional pieces of flatware. What matters is that FIRST each spot is filled, in order across the tray, with one piece of flatware. Then the rest can be loaded in willy nilly, who cares.
If I accidentally put two in a spot as I’m loading, I have to pick one piece back up and move it to the next available empty spot.
I’ve TRIED to let myself load the tray willy nilly. I can’t. I CAN’T.
I’m not at all regimented in other ways. In fact, I’m quite distracted and flighty and ditzy. But I’m obsessive about how I load the flatware tray in the dishwasher. Which makes no sense. It’s a temporary situation. The dishes only stay in the dishwasher for a few hours, or until whenever I unload it. No one sees it and no one knows. Even I can’t see it after I shut the door of the dishwasher. IT ACCOMPLISHES NOTHING.
And it’s weird.
And now I have come clean, so to speak.
My name is Suzanne and I have a weird obsession with loading flatware into the dishwasher.
Thank you for listening!