I have made a dreadful, dreadful mistake. I am going to have to break up with E.S., put the house on the market, and throw myself back into the world of
anonymous group sex dating with an unparalleled frenzy in hopes of finding a boyfriend who is not an insane crazy person.
E.S. and I were talking about what we want to do with the kitchen, and I pointed out that we have to leave room for a dishwasher.
And he said no.
We argued violently about this for twenty minutes. “I’ve never had a dishwasher,” he said, “and I wouldn’t use one if we got it.”
And suddenly I saw the truth, as devastatingly as if it had been Zeus revealing himself in his splendor. “You think having a dishwasher is a sign of moral weakness, don’t you?” I said.
“Honey, of course having a dishwasher is a sign of moral weakness,” he replied. “You’re the one who’s deluding yourself by saying it’s not.”
Sweet Jesus, what have I done?