Like most (sane) people, I have a "way" of loading the dishwasher. It's the same dishwasher every time, and basically the same dishes, so I think I've found the arrangement that works the best, and I do that every time.
My husband does not. He approaches loading the dishwasher like it's some kind of art project, mixing up plates and glasses and bowls, paying no attention to useful scraps of manufacturer advice like "top rack only".
If I try to add something to the dishwasher after he has been in there, I often end up rearranging what he's done to make it more space-efficient. I try try TRY not to complain about this. It's not his fault I'm a rigid modernist and fail to cherish his more Impressionist spirit. Also, he would be perfectly within his rights to say, "You don't like the way I do it? Well then I'll leave it for you to do. Every time."
But the other night, as I moved greasy bowls into a more logical arrangement, I suggested, "You know, I wouldn't be doing this if the dishwasher wasn't basically full already. You should go ahead and run it when it's this full, and that way I won't get all naggy on you about the retarded way you sling dishes into here."
I was nicer than that, and he took my advice with good grace. But as he passed into the dining room, Big Man, who is five, looked up from his coloring and, sounding like Desmond Tutu, said, "Dad? You should just do it her way."