"You're too dirty to be this dirty"

I need a safe word for dirty dishes.

“Damn I wish I knew how dirty you were before I fell for how dirty you are.”

I dream of a world where there’s a scanner, at my front door. A guest steps through it, and—voilà!—it spits me out a report on the visitor’s cleanliness and hygiene. That way, I can instantly know whether to greet them with a hug or keep my distance.

This was one of the thoughts I shared with a friend during a conversation when they asked me how my writing was coming along.

I was struggling to explain how I don't want to be viewed as a chauvinist for deliberately sabotaging a relationship with a woman because she couldn’t wash dishes properly. I’m not a chauvinist, just someone who’s OCD about cleanliness. But in a world where everything is seen through a patriarchal lens, talking about my dishwashing standards felt like I was navigating a minefield.

Here’s the deal: I love cooking. My culinary skills aren’t expansive, but what I can cook, I cook well. It’s therapeutic, intimate, and a way I show affection. When I cook, it’s like a private concert—me being the chef and the entertainment. So when I invited a woman over for dinner, I was making a statement about how serious I was.

In my world, if someone cooks, it’s polite for the guest to offer to wash the dishes. When this woman agreed to do so, I was pleasantly surprised. It was like a scene from “A Bronx Tale,” where Sonny advises that if a woman doesn’t open the car door for you after you’ve opened hers, she’s not worth it. Her offer to wash dishes felt like she’d earned some unexpected gold stars or seen she had seen the same movie.

But then came the morning after. I went to the kitchen, excited about the day and for breakfast, only to find remnants of last night’s dinner still on the plates. It felt like a glitch in the Matrix. At first, I brushed it off—it was a late night, understandable. But when I went to grab a fork and found dried pasta sauce stuck between the tines, I had to step back and reassess. This wasn’t just a minor oversight; it was a dishwashing disaster.

I’m not a chauvinist - maybe it was a simple oversight. I invited her over again, hoping the previous mishap was a fluke. Once again, I prepared another delicious meal, she held up her end of the deal by helping me clean, followed by satisfying sex. But this time, as soon as she fell asleep, I snuck out of bed to inspect the dishes. And sure enough, she was a terrible dishwasher. 

I felt like God was playing a cosmic joke on me. How could someone so sweet and satisfying in the bedroom be completely clueless about the importance of proper dishwashing? I’d been duped. I’d grown fond of her efforts to please me between the sheets, but the idea of eating anything she prepared was out of the question. How could I trust the cleanliness of the dishes she used when her washing skills were so questionable?

The week that followed was full of disappointment. I couldn’t ignore the fact that her subpar dishwashing might jeopardize our relationship. I was torn between being attracted to her in bed and being repelled by her skills in the kitchen.

A few weeks later, I tried again, hoping to avoid conflict. I cooked, and she offered to clean up. But this time I stopped her, suggesting we do the dishes later. But exhaustion got the better of me, and I fell asleep. When I woke, she was in the kitchen, drying dishes that weren’t clean, mixing them with the clean ones. It was like watching someone get perfectly healthy dishes sick.

The frustration built up. I was left with a choice: confront her about her dishwashing or compromise on what I saw as a dealbreaker. Trusting her cleanliness in the kitchen made me question her overall reliability. I didn’t want a relationship where I second-guessed everything.

Instead of addressing the issue, I became passive-aggressive, hoping she’d break up with me. I let my immaturity push her away rather than deal with my concerns directly.

I try not to dwell on what could have been. I want to believe I’ve learned my lesson. Moving forward I make sure to find out if a woman can wash dishes before getting too attached. It’s a crucial part of determining if a relationship is worth pursuing. It’s also exactly what a chauvinist would say.

But I’m not that.

And if someone could make this, I would appreciate it:

For right now I’ll call it the Cleanliness Contraption 1000.

Introducing the Cleanliness Contraption 1000—a device so advanced, it’s practically a bouncer for your front door. Just install it, and it’ll screen anyone entering your home to see if they’re up to snuff with your hygiene standards. It’s like having a personal butler who’s only concerned with cleanliness. Because, let’s face it, nothing says “welcome” like a gadget that might judge your guests before they even step inside.

As I finish this, I listen to Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” off his " 2001 album Malpractice.

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