I have seen the future, and it involves scrubbing

I hate doing dishes. It’s not the garden-variety hate visited on chores like laundry, or even the ick-factor hate of cleaning the toilet (although there are spouses in the world, and I’m not mentioning any names, who would do well to take toilet brush in hand, like, ever). My hatred of dish-doing is bone-deep and burns with the heat of a thousand suns.

Which is why it was with heavy heart that I realized today I will have to take over dish duty at Casa Cranky.

Not So makes a good showing – he’s willing to wash the stuff in the sink more often than not, and he’s much, much less likely than I am to put non-dishwashable things in the dishwasher just to get out of a little scrubbing. But he’s also washing the dishes at 2 or 3 in the morning, when he’s so tired he can’t see straight, and that tends to cause a few problems. Problem the first: not-quite-clean pans and bakeware reclining, diva-like, in the dish drainer, waiting for the moment when I pick one up to put it away and find that there is a fine layer of grease on the bottom (or a film of unclean on the surface which no doubt was mostly invisible when the pan was wet). Problem the second: waterlogged scrubby sponges happily collecting bacteria and stench on the edge of the sink. Problem the third: the sink! Because it is stainless steel, and prone to rust spots when, for example, a not-squeezed-out sponge is left on the edge of it.

Less easy to quantify is the “reminding” aspect, which is entirely the product of my deformed psyche. If I have to instruct my beloved every time I wish for a dish to be cleaned, it feels like the dishes are my responsibility. If my beloved stumbles to bed at 3am without taking care of them, I am somewhat annoyed. On the other hand, if I assume that I’m the only one who’s going to do the dishes, there’s no one to be annoyed with. I can add dish-doing to my mental schedule and not feel like I’m having to do “extra” work.

I’ve been delegating dish duty more often than I probably should, just because I loathe it so completely. No more. Dishes, I will have the best of you. Yes. Fear me.

My inner feminist is cringing right now, but that’s mostly because I’m making her wear a 50’s housedress and an apron. Also, I have her hair in a beehive. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your hair in a beehive? Marge Simpson has nothing on me.

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3 thoughts on “I have seen the future, and it involves scrubbing”

  1. My husband forbids me to iron. I offered to learn, but he believes very strongly that since he’s being evaluated on the creases in his pants, he should be responsible for putting them there. Works for me. As far as the rest of the household goes, he does pitch in usually without being asked. This earned him my undying love and admiration in the first few months after our Tiffany came home from the hospital, when I would stagger out to the kitchen bleary-eyed and with screaming infant balanced in my arms, to find an unaccountably sparkling white-tiled, CLEAN, with formula already measured up and mixed and her meds portioned out, ready to go.

    For this alone, I will gladly become any type of wife he wants. I’ve warned him, though, of my own Donna Reed tendancies. The day he finds me wearing pearls and pumps while baking cookies, he’s threatened to take me over his knee and then to marriage counseling.


  2. I’m surprised you don’t have a website! You could always get a hosted wordpress blog – they’re free. Go here: WordPress.com.

    I don’t mind laundry. I actually like to iron. Very zen. Dishes, though…


  3. I sympathize with you completely. I usually end up washing other people’s dishes while visiting them so go figure. It nags at me until I face it as washing a dish, one dish or whatever at a time. The dishwashers are not perfect, but they help. It also seems that the aversion to touching things that need to be cleaned and are wet is a guy thing. Toilets, dishes, laundry fall into that mysterious icky category. I know that is stereotyping and all. You have your hands full with the darling boy and school. Paper plates and plastic utensils and cups will go for a while if you want to avoid the Donna Reed role. She is freaky. I grew up on the perfect everything women sitcom. Watch out for the old Stepford Wives conversion. Just kidding. I grumble a lot, as you know, but I do what HAS to be done eventually.
    I don’t have a website. Is that pathetic or what?


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