What is That Thing Nuns Wear?

Oh, yes. A habit.

But the nuns probably don't say: "I am going to wash my habit." or "Hang on a sec, let me put on my habit." They probably just say "I'm going to do laundry." Or "I've gotta get dressed."

Because the habitiness of a habit becomes invisible after a while.

So, I called my folks yesterday and mother told me that they bought a dishwasher. "Oh dear God," I said. "How is Dad taking it?"

Because my father has a thing with the dishes.

When I was growing up, it never seemed out of the ordinary to me that my father did an enormous amount of the housecleaning. Both my folks worked full time and my mom did most of the cooking. So it all seemed to work out pretty fair. To the extent that I gave it any thought, I probably just assumed that my old man was an enlightened guy.

Which, you know, he mostly is.

But I think that part of it is also a slight compulsiveness. This is most evident with the dishes. With hilarious consequences.

When it's my parents' turn to host a holiday meal, my father hovers around the table, waiting for dishes to wash.

Father: "You done with that plate? Let me take it for you."

Feemus: "I think I might have seconds in a minute."

Father: "Great. You can have them on a nice clean plate."

And then he reaches for it. Even if there's still food on it. Food I intend to eat.

Good grief. My sister and I joke that over the years we've developed the "prison-yard grip," hunched over our dish with the non-fork arm (left for her, right for me) snaked around the plate for protection. "Get away from my chow," we've learned to snarl.

We're totally ready for the big house.

But the really funny thing is the coffee cup situation.

If you ever visit my perfectly lovely parents, here's a bit of advice: never, under any circumstances, set your coffee cup down. Anywhere. It will get whisked away and washed, even if it is full of coffee.

Astonishingly, I have a kind of temporary amnesia about this behavior--I always momentarily forget what's going to happen. My sister, too.

Here's a typical scene when my sister and I go for a visit. For the full effect, you need to include bemused partners looking on (we've both made inter-species matches: coffee-drinkers with non-coffee-drinkers):

Feemus: "Hey Dad, have you seen my coffee cup?"

Father: "Did you want some more coffee? I'll go make a fresh pot."

Feemus: "No, no. I'm just looking for my cup."

Father: "I'll make a new pot. It'll be done in a jiff."

Feemus: "No, that's ok. Just gonna find my cup. It has coffee in it."

Father [somewhat evasively]: "Oh, um, it might have gotten washed."

Sister [entering]: "Hi guys. Have either of you seen my coffee cup?"

Father: "Hi honey. Your brother just asked me to make another pot. Ready in five minutes."

Sister: "No, I was just..."

[Feemus and Sister finally realize (for the 400th time) what's going on]

Sister: "...I guess I just misplaced it. I'll make another pot."

Feemus: "I'll help."

[Feemus and Sister walk off giggling]

FIN

Well, at least I know where I get my habit of pretending not to understand questions that I don't want to answer.

So, I'm not sure what my poor father will do now that they have a dishwasher. My mom handed off the phone and I asked him how he liked it. "It's great," he said. But I could hear the tension in his voice.

So I called my sister. "Did you hear that the old folks got a dishwasher?" I asked.

She had not only heard, she'd gone for a visit over the weekend and had seen the beast in action. "It's nice," she said. I asked her how our father was coping. "Oh, it's pretty much the same. Now he just takes your stuff and puts it in the dishwasher. I had four separate cups on Sunday morning and he threw half my breakfast away when I got up to take a phone call."

We laughed. Then she said, "You know what's really funny?"

"What?" I asked in perfect innocence of how the answer would forever shatter my peace.

"You do the same thing."





Oh.