It’s a beautiful eighty degree day in New York. Outside my window there is a gentle breeze, the humidity is reasonable, and the birds and bees are going about their business with typical bird and bee focus. Idyllic scene for one to behold, flowers, trees, birds and bees. So why is my world askew, you might ask? My dishwasher is broken.
Here I sit waiting for the repair man who promises to be here in about thirty minutes. I am sure he’ll be ringing the front door bell within an hour of the time I should expect him. Having a broken dishwasher is not such a catastrophe. The world won’t tilt on its axis. No need to alert Strategic Air Command. The stars will remain in the heavens. All that being said, I am in a state of high alert.
It’s not just the dishwasher that has me in panic mode. It’s anytime that anything in my world, person, creature, appliances, utilities, misbehave. I have a sense that I am being let down. I go into full dysfunction until it is repaired and living up to our agreement. I am a complete control freak and when a dish is out-of-place, the laundry basket overfilled, or there is one item on my counter that I don’t want there, I am in a tizzy.
Truly, I am not concerned that I might need to wash a dish, but rather that there is something in my world that is taking up room in my kitchen and it doesn’t work. It’s not supposed to let me down like that. An old Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell movie, Front Page, used a term, Production for Use. It is my mantra. I had determined I would not have the dishwasher fixed until end of summer. I don’t expect to have any large dinner parties, so it wouldn’t cause undo hardship. Except – except – it was two days and it drove me to drink. The Jose Curevo now sits on the wine cart rather than put away in a liquor cabinet.
Am I neurotic? I never thought of myself as such, however, the signs are there. I could care less about other people’s homes or if they are tidy or not. I love friends and family for who they are and not how they choose to live. Most times I don’t even notice what condition their house is in. This is just about me. What if I should die in the middle of the night, family and friends gather at my home, and my dishwasher is broken. Oh no, no, I would have to haunt them to set things straight. I would walk the rooms of this house forever adjusting pictures and dusting knick knacks.
So here I sit, indoors, on this beautiful God sent day, awaiting my repair man. Hurrah a car is pulling up. In about an hour all will be right with my world once again. I hope. If not, would you care to join me for a drink?