He used to bring me chocolates and whisper sweet nothings into my ear. Oh how we would giggle at our private jokes!
That was when we first met, about a year ago.
I relied on him and he let me down. He had been a dirty, dirty boy and I expected him to clean up his act.
It's a different story when he tells it. Says it wasn't his fault. Says I was using him. And neglecting his needs.
We tried to make it work and even brought in an expert (who seemed to take his side).
Pop-dishwasher-psychology lingo was thrown around: the EPA's waterway cleaning resulted in the removal of phosphates from detergents; and someone's food filter was filthy.
In retrospect, I wonder if I threw too much at him. Perhaps being responsible for such a large family wasn't his scene.
We patched things up with a couple rounds of a specialty dishwasher cleaner. His trap was scrubbed sparkling clean. He began using eco-friendly detergents.
"I feel brand new," he said to me as the morning sun kissed his start button.
We danced through wildflowers once again and sang the clean dishes song. His smile was as wide as the silverware tray on an industrial model as he strummed his ukelele.
Just when I thought we were reunited forever (or at least the next few years), he flooded my kitchen in an act of vandalism that blindsided me.
Relationships are built on trust.
I'm not there yet.
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