Chemistry, and Doing The Dishes

The subject I know the least about is chemistry. Why? For very simple reasons: while there is an intellectual component that is akin to three-dimensional puzzle-solving, the existential feature of chemistry is dishwashing.

Now, aside from the fact that as an autist I really don’t like to get my hands dirty – it’s over-stimulating in a way that normals can’t understand; as a child, we had to wash the dishes after supper, and my father was a bit of a tyrant about it.

Chemistry involves dirtying a lot of dishes that need cleaning, and that unlike the joy of cooking, produces all sorts of smells, and burns, and other nasty consequences that someone with intense experiences just has a problem with.

I can diagnose a Ferrari engine pretty accurately just by listening to it idle in an enclosed space. I can criticize any artwork past or present. I’m an adequate if messy cook. And I’m hella-scary with what we can claim is true or not.

But I’m comfortable not working with chemistry really. Because I’m uncomfortable doing dishes.