Seminar for Sociopaths

I used to consider myself an easygoing person.

That was before my two adult daughters TEMPORARILY moved back in with us.

After living on their own for many years, both had gained competence, independence, and self-reliance.

Unfortunately, what they did not gain was the ability to perform basic kitchen tasks.

Don’t get me wrong, they knew how to use a dish, and sometimes the dish even found its way to the dishwasher.

But the return trip to the cupboard proved problematic.

You’d think pans would reunite with pans, and bowls would find bowls, and surely spoons would rejoin fellow utensils.

YOU’D THINK?!

This is why I had no choice but to instruct a kitchen organizational seminar.

“Dish to Cupboard Seminar starts in 10 minutes,” I called.

Silence.

“It’s going to be fun!”

More silence.

Ten minutes later, I managed to coerce both daughters into the kitchen.

“Your dad and I will be out of town, and we’d appreciate you putting things where they belong,” I said.

“We put things away,” Quincey said.

I opened Exhibit A: the Tupperware cupboard.

It was a plastic battle scene with many casualties. Orphaned lids and mismatched containers lay haphazardly throughout the shelves. A wayward measuring cup hid behind a Pyrex bowl. A wine opener had been thrown like a grenade into a popcorn bowl. It was, in all senses of the word, WILLY NILLY, and I do not use that phrase lightly.

I raised an eyebrow and let them soak in the carnage.

After a minute, “Well?”

Quincey shrugged.

“Looks good to me,” Parker said.

Had I raised sociopaths?

I took a deep breath. “Each container has a matching lid, and they should stay together. They’re a pair, like socks.”

I looked down at my daughters’ feet. Both were wearing mismatched socks.  

Good God, they WERE sociopaths.

(Also, mental note: Plan sock seminar.)

“Fine, we get it,” Parker said. “Are we done yet?”

“See these dishes?” I pointed to the array of pots and pans lying next to the sink. “They’re not nomads, they have homes.”

“They were drying,” Quincey said.

“For a week?” I handed her a frying pan. 

I passed Parker a casserole dish. 

“Why don’t you put these away,” I said.

“I thought this was more of an informational seminar,” Quincey said.

Parker nodded. “Like the history of dishes.”

I sighed. 

“Come on, I believe in you two,” I said.

I didn’t, but best to keep it positive.

Which wasn’t easy since I felt like I was leading a painful game of Hot and Cold. 

“Warm, warmer… no, colder… nope, pots don’t go in the oven…”

It was like watching two blind mice.

“Still cold… okay, a little warmer…” I said to Quincey, as she began edging towards the pots and pans cupboard. “Getting hotter!”

Meanwhile Parker had meandered into the living room and was watching Ozark.

“Cold, Parker, very cold!” I called.

Parker rolled her eyes and returned to the kitchen.

An eternity later, I finally shouted, “Hot! You’re on fire!” as the last dish was returned to the cupboard.  

“Okay, this is the last thing we’re going to go over,” I said, pointing to the clean/dirty magnetic sign on the dishwasher.

“It’s pretty simple. When the sign says dirty…”

But it was too late. Both had escaped. Seminar over.

A shame, too, because the dishwasher sign demonstration was sure to be a crowd pleaser.

I shook my head.

Games, visuals, hands-on demonstrations…what more could I have provided?

Then, suddenly, I realized what had been missing all along…

And what would liven up tomorrow’s “Plants Need Water” seminar…

Alcohol.

I told you I was easygoing.