On dishes

Man, I hate doing the dishes.


I didn’t use to hate doing the dishes. It’s a recent pet peeve of mine. I used to think that doing the dishes was the nicest of housework (if any sort of housework can be considered “nice”, of which I doubt. A lot). I used to think that doing the dishes was relatively quick, and that once they were done you had a nice, fluffy feeling of accomplishment to keep you happy for the rest of the day. I used to sing when I did the dishes!

I even used to think that people who hate doing the dishes were lame. How ignorant I was!

I don’t know when it turned exactly. It must be less than a year, because I can’t remember feeling particularly cranky about doing the dishes when I lived in the US. Then again, I didn’t do a whole lot of dishes there. America is a haven for those of us who despise doing the dishes, since you can buy anything ready-made in a neat to-go wrapping there. I am fairly sure they’d have ready-made tomatoes if it hadn’t been for the fact that tomatoes already are pretty ready, and not actually in need of further making. The family I lived with often used paper plates. My save-the-world-one-recycled-can-at-the-time side didn’t approve, but the rest of me secretly did.

Anyway, I suspect that my dishwashloathing started around the time I came back from the US. Right about when I moved into an apartment with another human being who also produced dishes and whose dishes I periodically had to wash (for the record, she periodically washed mine as well, so we’re good). Until this moment the concept of washing dishes had been something I didn’t mind. After this moment, it became something I hated.

When I moved out of that apartment, one of the things I was looking forward to was having only my own dishes to wash again. Unfortunately I forgot that this also meant that I would be the only one doing the washing (or dishing, as I know it isn’t called, but I am tempted to ignore my knowledge. Why does this simple activity need three words? The fact that “Doing the dishes” practically is an entire sentence makes me hate this activity even more!).

When I lived with someone else I was able to dislike that they produced a lot of dirty dishes. Now I don’t have that luxury. I am left with disliking that I produce a lot of dirty dishes. It is terribly annoying.

So, can’t there be a solution to this newfound grievance of mine?

I think the dishes ought to do themselves. It’s not my fault there are dishes to be done! Well, actually, it is my fault. But it isn’t my fault that it is my fault. To quote my nephew: “It’s not FAAAAAIR!!!”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go do the dishes, as there is no one else to dish them out on.