If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I’m going to soak my dishes. Whether to soften up the crusty residue on a plate before scrubbing it off, or just because I don’t feel like doing the dishes right now. Unfortunately, my roommate was always yelling at me about my soaking tendencies, claiming that no plate needs to soak for over a week. I disagree, but I always listen when someone has a grievance to air with me. Which is why I promised my roommate I would stop soaking my dishes altogether – and, instead, opted to have them baptized.
The concept of baptism first came to me after taking a long, hard look at my plates and bowls soaking in my sink, unsubscribed to any faith — devotionless, if you will. Frankly, it made me sick. Also, they looked super sticky and gross, so I definitely didn’t want to touch them.
Was it annoying to have to schedule semi-frequent home visits with my local deacon to perform lengthy and arduous baptisms on my used dishes? Sure, I guess so. Does the deacon protest that Dawn dish soap is not meant to be mixed with holy water? Big time, but he’s a total pushover so it doesn’t matter.
Now, my dishes can sit submerged in our sink for as long as the Lord deems necessary, and my roommate can’t say anything about it, because of freedom of religion, or whatever.
However, that didn’t stop my roommate from accusing me of using baptism as a way of getting out of doing my dishes once and for all. They couldn’t believe that I simply wanted to ensure that all of my Anthropologie bowls were divinely protected from the temptations of Lucifer.
Ultimately, in spite of my roommate’s continued complaints, having all of my dirty dishes baptized was a win-win. I got to let all my gross bowls pre-soak for eternity through God’s will, and Christianity got five new converts.
Plus, now my favorite mug is technically a born-again virgin – and I love that!
