Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Love in the Time of Dishwashers

Well Readers,

Like you I sometimes only find the energy to load yesterday (or the day before's) dishes after I get home from work. I'll keep on my headphones and collect all the cups and plates from around my nest with a renewed desire to see it tidy and happily pull open the dishwasher - only to find my future-husband has already been in there loading some dishes himself.

I love my future husband but I sometimes wonder if he loads the dishwasher on recreational drugs. It's like Escher hurled in there. Dishes coming out of other dishes. Dishes defying the laws of time and space. I half expect David Bowie to emerge in full Labyrinth regalia, spinning those inimitable glass balls.

My future husband works in IT. He identifies, categorizes and resolves major computer issues by discerning patterns in chaos. How is it this same mind looks into the dishwasher and jenga's our dishes at trigonometry angles that pythagorus could not write formulas for? Does this mean I should expect avant-guarde lego constructions from our children? How powerful does he think the jet/soap combination really is in our already leaky condo dishwasher?

As a rule I enjoy attempting to unravel what is often a baffling train of thought or series of distractions that lead him to an amusing amount of non-sequiter revelations in our relationship. This particular one however, speaks to a certain disquiet with spacial relationships which I already have in *my* genetics.

Sorry future-kids. Looks like none of you are going to be those solve-the-rubix cube types. I'll save myself the 20 bucks on those 3-D puzzles and stick to letting you re-write the code in your father's computer.

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