Last Saturday night, my husband and I sat at our dinner table (not in front of the telly) and had a romantic candle-lit meal washed down by a bottle of chilled Prosecco. There was no special occasion per se, we simply needed an evening of just us- no kids, no Netflix, no interruptions.
We ate a delicious meal whilst we spoke in depth about our thoughts and feelings. It was wonderfully refreshing! I looked across at his handsome face and felt the stirs of desire in the pit of my stomach.
My heart was pumping with anticipation as we headed hand in hand into the dimly lit kitchen to have one of our deeply passionate and heated interactions.
"Are you sure you want to put that there?" I asked.
"Yes", he replied, "It's dirty. It needs a good cleaning"
He lifted a giant saucepan that he had used to boil spaghetti in at lunchtime and placed it on the bottom shelf of the dishwasher.
"But it's so big!", I exclaimed.
"I know it is", he agreed ", Big. And dirty".
"But what about these?" I said pointing to a pile heavily soiled dinner plates that he had stacked up on top of the kitchen counter queuing for a cleanse. The poor fellas had been queuing since the night before and they had congealed bolognese sauce and greasy fishfinger residue smeared across their sad ceramic surfaces!
"No. They can wait. I'll do my pan first. It's really filthy", he said.
"But what about my plates? They're even filthier!", I pointed out,"They're not going to fit in if you put your massive pan in there- and the top rack is already stuffed with your breakfast mugs".
" I'll put them in tomorrow. Trust me, I know what I'm doing", he said," I know how to load a dishwasher".
"You sure as hell don't know how to unload one", I mumbled under my breath.
He rolled his eyes and began to stick gravy-stained forks into the holes in the cutlery basket. Next came the ladel and the spatula which he positioned on the top rack amongst the breakfast mugs.
"Don't over load the top rack!!," I pleaded, " They won't get cleaned properly if you over stuff it"
"I'm NOT overstuffing it, it can take it!", he insisted . He forced the top shelf closed and then lifted our Prosecco glasses and gently balanced them on the bottom shelf around the edge of his giant pan.
"Look,why don't I just handwash your pan?" I said, "It's only had boiled water in it after all", I pointed out, " I'll give it a quick rub over with a sponge and then you can fit the plates in."
'NO!' he replied', It takes far more water to hand wash my pan than to put it in the dishwasher!'.
"No it doesn't," I exclaimed passionately.
"Yes. Yes it does!," he retorted.
"No, no nuhh-no!", I continued, my heartbeat quickening.
"Yes, yesssss!! I know it does", he repeated over and over as beads of sweat started to gather on his forehead.
The more I disagreed, the more riled up he got and the redder his face became until eventually, he exploded: 'Well, YOU do it then! I won't bother in future. You stack it the way you see fit!!'.
He stormed out of the kitchen- the beads of sweat now running down his forehead. He collapsed into bed and fell straight asleep- exhausted from the flurry of passionate activity.
I was left to clean up the mess as he snored soundly in bed.
In all honesty, I can't recall having had a such an explosive bout of filthy talk on a Saturday night like this in quite some time....
...even if it was about dinner plates...and a rather massive pan.