”You must be a Deluded type,” said my retreat dishwashing partner. “I can tell by the way you’ve loaded the dish drainer.”
I glanced at my dish drainer with its skewed plates, a glass perched on top of a pot, and serving spoons stuck at odd angles. It looked like a circus balancing act. Next to it was the dish drainer he had stacked before me. His dishes were meticulously in line from smallest to largest, glasses were in a particular place and order, and everything looked as if it could be hermetically sealed in plastic and sent as a compact UPS package.
“And what type are you?” I asked, suspecting I already knew.
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