Dishwasher Wars: The Utter, Total Collapse of Civilization
_____
Picture this: me, a noble champion of order, standing before the open maw of the dishwasher. It’s a warzone. Plates sprawled like fallen soldiers, mugs doing headstands like they’ve joined a ceramic yoga class, and—oh, sweet mercy—a colander just hanging out on top of everything like it owns the place. Enter my wife, the agent of chaos, the dishwasher anarchist, the Picasso of “loading however the hell I feel like.”
.
Her philosophy? “If it fits, it washes.”
My philosophy? “This isn’t Tetris, Deborah!”
(And no, her name’s not Deborah, but it feels appropriately dramatic when I scream it in my head.)
.
She strolls into the kitchen, holding a cereal bowl like it’s a grenade. Plunk! It lands on a glass, upside-down, trapping water in a way that would make Archimedes roll in his grave. She looks at me, unbothered, like she hasn’t just committed a war crime. “What’s the big deal?” she asks, casually tossing a spoon into the cutlery rack pointy end up, which—let’s be honest—is one missed slip away from turning this into a crime scene.
.
“What’s the big deal?” I reply, my voice rising two octaves. “THE BIG DEAL is that dishes need water circulation. They can’t rinse if you pile them like a stack of pancakes at a truck stop!” She shrugs. SHRUGS. As if her apathy hasn’t just set back the dishwasher-loading cause by decades.
.
And yet—and this is where the universe kicks me square in the teeth—the dishes still come out clean. Clean! That mug she balanced upside-down like a drunken trapeze artist? Spotless. The glass imprisoned under the cereal bowl? Sparkling. The colander chilling like a frat bro at spring break? Not a crumb. And every time, she gives me that look. That “see, it worked” look. The same look you’d give someone who’s still hoarding VHS tapes “just in case.”
.
Now, I’d love to say I’m the bigger person here, but let’s be real. This is the hill I will die on. The Dishwasher Hill of Righteousness, where plates are vertical, bowls are angled, and justice reigns supreme. So every time she leaves the kitchen, I swoop in, a stealthy dish-ninja, rearranging her mess into art.
.
But here’s the kicker, folks. Here’s the zaniest, most infuriating part of all: she knows. SHE KNOWS I’ll do it. Which means this whole thing? It’s just a game to her. A game. And that, my friends, is why the Dishwasher Wars rage on.
.
Because this isn’t just about loading dishes. No, no, no. This is about pride. It’s about respect. It’s about the principle that a colander has no damn business lounging on top of my coffee mugs.
.
So yes, I’ll keep fighting this ridiculous battle. And when I’m 90, still rearranging her chaos into perfection, she’ll still be there, grinning, plunking a spoon in upside-down just to watch me lose my mind. And honestly? That’s love. Twisted, dishwasher-destroying love.
I laughed out loud and will later read this to my husband who I know is going to love it and laugh out loud too. Unfortunately I am Deborah (not my real name either). So I am now wondering whether there is a deeper layer to me finding this so funny, one that might well be a tad sinister, haha. So good. Did you already know you could write funny??? x
Ooh that ending. Felt like it was going to be a deep one and then it suddenly switched. Which made me smile. It worked! And actually the laugh made it even more meaningful. You've given us a great start here.
YES! It is. How have I never thought about that before. Things like that blow my mind. When you've used a word a million times and never made a connection. I think you're right, I think we can take things too seriously and it is a bit of a relief to realise that. But also, sometimes when I do realise this (about my own work) I almost then feel a bit awkward about it. A bit embarrassed. Know what I mean? I can't really describe it but I'm intrigued to know if it's a common feeling?
So good...I also struggle with any kind of child-like reference...when people say being "playful" is important ...I was a VERY unplayful child and wanted to be left alone with my books and my pieces of paper. Thanks for this Nelly xo
Yes exactly, just leave me be in a quiet corner with a book thank you very much. I'll just watch you 'playing' from a distance and I definitely won't be remotely jealous. Or intrigued. Or tempted...
I love silly poetry and have put a whole section on silly (dare I say funny?!) poetry in my book.. which o let me family read for the first time this week and my dad did laugh out loud at one of them so that’s good enough for me 😂.. on tenter hooks to see how a collection that is both silly and serious in places lands.
My first poetry book was the same as yours Lisa, ‘in the Ning Nang Nong the cows go bong and the monkeys all go jibberjabberjoo.’ Looking forward to reading your silly poetry.
I'm going to come back to this very soon and actually write something! This is genius. I love your ability to share wisdom via stories and learnt experience. I would be better off with a little more humour in my life 🧡
Ditto. Sometimes I don’t think I realise I’ve let it go until I feel it again. Do you know what I mean? I have seen the funny side of a few things this week, perhaps with this in mind 🤷♀️. Xxx
When I teach the poetry session in my beginners' creative writing class, I always use the limerick as the introductory poetic form because it's almost guaranteed to be funny and thus engages the poetry cynics in the class.
Dishwasher Wars: The Utter, Total Collapse of Civilization
_____
Picture this: me, a noble champion of order, standing before the open maw of the dishwasher. It’s a warzone. Plates sprawled like fallen soldiers, mugs doing headstands like they’ve joined a ceramic yoga class, and—oh, sweet mercy—a colander just hanging out on top of everything like it owns the place. Enter my wife, the agent of chaos, the dishwasher anarchist, the Picasso of “loading however the hell I feel like.”
.
Her philosophy? “If it fits, it washes.”
My philosophy? “This isn’t Tetris, Deborah!”
(And no, her name’s not Deborah, but it feels appropriately dramatic when I scream it in my head.)
.
She strolls into the kitchen, holding a cereal bowl like it’s a grenade. Plunk! It lands on a glass, upside-down, trapping water in a way that would make Archimedes roll in his grave. She looks at me, unbothered, like she hasn’t just committed a war crime. “What’s the big deal?” she asks, casually tossing a spoon into the cutlery rack pointy end up, which—let’s be honest—is one missed slip away from turning this into a crime scene.
.
“What’s the big deal?” I reply, my voice rising two octaves. “THE BIG DEAL is that dishes need water circulation. They can’t rinse if you pile them like a stack of pancakes at a truck stop!” She shrugs. SHRUGS. As if her apathy hasn’t just set back the dishwasher-loading cause by decades.
.
And yet—and this is where the universe kicks me square in the teeth—the dishes still come out clean. Clean! That mug she balanced upside-down like a drunken trapeze artist? Spotless. The glass imprisoned under the cereal bowl? Sparkling. The colander chilling like a frat bro at spring break? Not a crumb. And every time, she gives me that look. That “see, it worked” look. The same look you’d give someone who’s still hoarding VHS tapes “just in case.”
.
Now, I’d love to say I’m the bigger person here, but let’s be real. This is the hill I will die on. The Dishwasher Hill of Righteousness, where plates are vertical, bowls are angled, and justice reigns supreme. So every time she leaves the kitchen, I swoop in, a stealthy dish-ninja, rearranging her mess into art.
.
But here’s the kicker, folks. Here’s the zaniest, most infuriating part of all: she knows. SHE KNOWS I’ll do it. Which means this whole thing? It’s just a game to her. A game. And that, my friends, is why the Dishwasher Wars rage on.
.
Because this isn’t just about loading dishes. No, no, no. This is about pride. It’s about respect. It’s about the principle that a colander has no damn business lounging on top of my coffee mugs.
.
So yes, I’ll keep fighting this ridiculous battle. And when I’m 90, still rearranging her chaos into perfection, she’ll still be there, grinning, plunking a spoon in upside-down just to watch me lose my mind. And honestly? That’s love. Twisted, dishwasher-destroying love.
I laughed out loud and will later read this to my husband who I know is going to love it and laugh out loud too. Unfortunately I am Deborah (not my real name either). So I am now wondering whether there is a deeper layer to me finding this so funny, one that might well be a tad sinister, haha. So good. Did you already know you could write funny??? x
No. Absolutely no. I struggled with funny. I’m glad you like it and thanks for making me stretch my wings.
My husband organises the dishwasher. He has a very particular system, and after 25 years of owning one we all know to leave him to it.
“This isn’t Tetris Deborah” 🤣🤣 Loved all of this, so relatable!!
Thanks for sharing this. It made me write a few lines down, drawn from the short story “The circular ruins” by Borges.
In short, I agree that laugh is an essential part of our lives:)
What is so serious in the world?
I met an image of me
on a Monday—
It was busy office hours,
he was pleading to be forgotten
by all those demands.
I watched him get lost—
in that subtle fog,
like a musician,
looking for his instrument.
A dreamer—
waiting to awaken.
What is so serious in this world?
This painted canvas,
this fleeting moss
of now and then?
While on that noisy morning,
of trains and rushing hours,
in sorrow and relief he saw in the mirror—
a vision only he was,
A dream of someone else.
And laughed.
Ooh that ending. Felt like it was going to be a deep one and then it suddenly switched. Which made me smile. It worked! And actually the laugh made it even more meaningful. You've given us a great start here.
I think we all have the tendency to take our things a bit too seriously :)
The original story by Borges ends with a magician walking into the fire, unhurt and discovering then he was someone else’s spell.
Tried to take that concept more on the funny side. What if all this seriousness isn’t more than a beautiful staged dream— where we play.
And in English, the word play is the same for theatre and kids right?
YES! It is. How have I never thought about that before. Things like that blow my mind. When you've used a word a million times and never made a connection. I think you're right, I think we can take things too seriously and it is a bit of a relief to realise that. But also, sometimes when I do realise this (about my own work) I almost then feel a bit awkward about it. A bit embarrassed. Know what I mean? I can't really describe it but I'm intrigued to know if it's a common feeling?
Of course!
Perhaps feeling that way does not mean that what we do is not meaningful, just that is not all of us there.
And here, I find that self-irony is helpful
Like you see yourself in a mirror :)
So good...I also struggle with any kind of child-like reference...when people say being "playful" is important ...I was a VERY unplayful child and wanted to be left alone with my books and my pieces of paper. Thanks for this Nelly xo
Yes exactly, just leave me be in a quiet corner with a book thank you very much. I'll just watch you 'playing' from a distance and I definitely won't be remotely jealous. Or intrigued. Or tempted...
I love silly poetry and have put a whole section on silly (dare I say funny?!) poetry in my book.. which o let me family read for the first time this week and my dad did laugh out loud at one of them so that’s good enough for me 😂.. on tenter hooks to see how a collection that is both silly and serious in places lands.
I know it will land brilliantly. I can’t wait x
My first poetry book was the same as yours Lisa, ‘in the Ning Nang Nong the cows go bong and the monkeys all go jibberjabberjoo.’ Looking forward to reading your silly poetry.
thank you!
Feeling our instrument made me snort in the early morning darkness 😂
Who says that?!?! 🤣🤣🤣
People waaaayyy innocent than us, clearly! 😂😂
I'm going to come back to this very soon and actually write something! This is genius. I love your ability to share wisdom via stories and learnt experience. I would be better off with a little more humour in my life 🧡
Ditto. Sometimes I don’t think I realise I’ve let it go until I feel it again. Do you know what I mean? I have seen the funny side of a few things this week, perhaps with this in mind 🤷♀️. Xxx
I think you hit it--sometimes we laugh the hardest when driven to the edge. We're either falling or laughing.
Or sometimes a bit of both?! X
When I teach the poetry session in my beginners' creative writing class, I always use the limerick as the introductory poetic form because it's almost guaranteed to be funny and thus engages the poetry cynics in the class.
The limerick you say. Thank you. That might help me out of my 'trying to be funny' hole!
Limericks are great and once you start writing them, they seem to become a habit (which admittedly does become annoying after a while!)