He reloads the dishwasher after she’s loaded it

Greg has a laminated diagram of the dishwasher. It’s taped inside the cupboard door, it has a key, and the forks are color-coded.

Every night his wife Tanya loads the dishwasher. Every night, about 4 minutes later, Greg opens it, sighs through his nose, and starts again. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. The sigh has 3 parts.

Tanya thought it would stop when they had kids. It got worse, because now there were sippy cups, and sippy cups go on the top rack, on the left, lid separate, “obviously.”

He’s reloaded his mother’s dishwasher at Thanksgiving. He’s reloaded a dishwasher at a friend’s barbecue while the friend was still standing there holding a plate. Once, at a restaurant, he asked if he could “just take a quick look” at the kitchen. They said no. He said “no worries” and has never forgiven them.

Tanya brought him to me because she wanted him to let it go.

I asked Greg what would happen if he just left her load alone for one night. He went pale. He said, “The bowls would be facing the middle.” Then he had to sit down, which was hard, because he was already sitting down.

So I tried something new. I didn’t ask him to stop. I gave him my kitchen.

The office has a little kitchen. The dishwasher in it has been loaded by 6 different therapists since 2015, and nobody has ever agreed on anything. There’s a mug in there from a man who retired in 2019. Greg looked at it the way a firefighter looks at a burning building.

I told him he could come in every Tuesday and do whatever he needed to do.

He was there at 7am. He brought his own diagram. By 8 the kitchen had a system. By 9 the mugs were sorted by handle direction. By lunch, 2 of my colleagues had cried, and one of them thanked him.

Tanya loads her dishwasher however she likes now. The bowls face the middle. Nobody sighs. On Tuesdays she has the whole house to herself, and she says it’s the best marriage counseling she’s ever had, because her husband isn’t in it.

Greg says he’s never felt more seen.

It’s been 3 months. He’s started on the fridge. He’s labeled my yogurt. He’s labeled it “Doug’s?” with a question mark, like he’s not sure I deserve it.

Last Tuesday I put one spoon in the dishwasher the wrong way, just to see what would happen.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me and sighed through his nose. All 3 parts.

I’ve never been so fucking frightened in my own office.

If someone you love has to redo everything you’ve already done, there’s a short illustrated book about them. It’s called Everyone Is Toxic Except Me, and it’s about your favorite person.

Dr Doug Deeper. Fictional adult comedy. Not real therapy or relationship advice.