Sex & Dishwashing Aimee Friedland Starting Saturday I return to my 7-day work week. But I'm sick of washing dishes, scrubbing toilet bowls, being the last one in the restaurant and having to walk home drenched in water. It's degrading, it's disgusting, it's low-paying. I'm knee-deep in everyone else's grime and I can't stand it anymore. I'm not necessarily complaining, merely the work of a dishwasher is not for me. Even when I'm not at scrubbing away, I can't help but feel repulsive and unfeminine. If this was Hinduism, I would be casted as one of the "Untouchables." That brings me to my next point.. At this moment, I view sex as something that only belongs in the movies. Well, I suppose I will allow supermodels and rock stars to have sex. But me? No, never… I am an Untouchable. At work, a man tried to shake my hand, but I pulled it away cautiously. "Hey, you don't know where this thing's been." Well, at least I can say for sure that it hasn't been doing anything inappropriate. Masturbation is out of the question, because right now I can't bear to place myself in any sort of sexual situation, not even fantasy. Sometimes I have to ask myself if I'm even a girl anymore. I don't wear make up, I dress myself in the most disgusting clothes available because I know they'll just get grosser at work, I have hideous dark brown roots, and my physique is certainly less than stellar… I could go on and ON. I'm about to go crazy here. I'm not sure if I have ever felt so physically undesireable in my entire life. It's true, maybe I have no one to impress on this contintent, but that doesn't mean I should stop impressing myself. … But let's be honest here, could you ever imagine yourself sleeping with a dishwasher? Ugh.