“I am going to divorce you!”

I wasn’t quite sure that I had heard my wife correctly.

“What did you just say, Mary Beth?”

“I said that I am going to divorce you.”

“Can I ask why?”

I was fairly certain that she didn’t have a boyfriend (or girlfriend, for that matter) on the side, and she knew that I was happy to travel to exotic destinations of her choice with her. What more could she want?

She had a disgusted look in her eyes as she replied.

“You know why.”

I thought.

“Did I leave the toilet seat up?”

She had trained me early in our marriage to put the seat down so that when she went in the middle of the night she wouldn’t sit directly on the cold porcelain ring. I even wiped the toilet after peeing with toilet paper so the inaccurately aimed drops weren’t left to dry and gross her out.

“No, you didn’t leave the toilet seat up.”

Shoot, this was getting difficult.

“I haven’t done a load of laundry for ages, so I can’t have put any of your cold water clothes in the hot water wash.”

That mistake, early in our marriage, when I thought I was being a really good husband turned out to be a big mistake. The entire load turned pink. How would I have ever known? I did know after that.

“No, that isn’t what you did either.”

“Well what have I done that you could possibly want to divorce me for?”

“Follow me,” she ordered, as she walked in the direction of the kitchen.

Did I forget to take the trash out from under the kitchen sink?

No, it wasn’t that I had forgotten to empty the trash either. I had, indeed been known to do that. At my age I claim it is the result of CRS syndrome — ‘can’t remember shit.’

Mary Beth walked up to the dishwasher, lowered the door, and looked at me.

I smiled broadly!

“Doesn’t that make you happy? I know how much you HATE having dirty dishes left on the sink, so I put them all into the dishwasher. What a good man you have. Pretty soon I’ll be making the beds in the morning!”

She rolled her eyes at that.

“You do and I’ll just have to tear them apart and redo them.”

“Okay, so then what’s your beef? You should be swooning and offering me your body.”

“Can’t you see?” she exclaimed, pointing to the lower rack that she had pulled out.

“It looks fine to me,” I sincerely replied.

“You put the large plates on the wrong side, and you screwed up the bowls on the other side.

“Plus, you didn’t rinse things before you put them into the dishwasher.”

She began taking the dishes out and piling them on the counter so she could put them back in ‘her way.’

“I rinse any dishes that need to be cleaned before I put them in. If there is cheese or eggs stuck to the plates, I clean it off so that it won’t get baked on. But, for goodness sake, were talking about butter, maple syrup, and catsup, things that will come off easily. Bread crumbs. Anyway, newer dishwashers tell you it isn’t necessary to clean the plates before you put them in. Check out what it says in the manual.”

Citing the users manuals as a reason for doing thing my way doesn’t really fly with Mary Beth.

Having repacked the lower rack, she pulled out the top rack.

“And look at THIS! There is no organization at all,” she said as the glasses, cups and plastic containers that had held leftovers where withdrawn and put on the countertop.

“No organization? I move things around however I need to, to fit the most dishes that I can put into the space. I find that very organized.”

“Well I don’t!” as if that settled the argument.