The Dishwasher

You're shouting about the dishwasher. Again. And halfway through the sentence, a small voice in you says: this isn't about the dishwasher.

Of course it is. It's a simple thing. Plates go in, door goes shut. You've said it a hundred times. Anyone would lose it.

So you argue about plates. They say it's just one plate. You say it's never just one plate. Ten minutes later, you're talking about the birthday they forgot in 2019. And nobody's touched the dishwasher.

Here's a rule that almost never fails. When the reaction is bigger than the situation, the situation isn't the problem. A plate weighs about a pound. What you're carrying weighs a lot more.

Maybe you feel like the only one holding the house together. Maybe you don't feel taken seriously anymore. You're not petty. You're asking for something real, through the only door that was open: a dirty plate.

So what is the plate standing in for? What would you say, if you said the real thing?

Someone once complained that she never got flowers anymore. It was never about the flowers. It was about feeling chosen. The flowers were just the easiest thing to point at. So say the thing underneath: I feel alone with all of this. It's much harder to say than plates. It's also the only sentence they can actually answer.

And once it's said, the dishwasher is just a dishwasher again. You might even load it together. What's your dishwasher really about?