Dishes are the enemy of my soul

I hate doing the dishes more than just about anything.  A more tedious chore never has been invented by mankind.

Conversely, I enjoy cooking.  I think its fun and is oftentimes (to my family’s dismay) a creative outlet for me.  This, obviously, leads to much of that thing I despise.

I share this deep-seated abhorrence with my beloved husband.  In most things we are extremely compatible; the ying to the other’s yang.  But when the sink is overflowing with a disheartening amount of food preparation materials we glance at each other and the stand off begins.  I can’t be quite sure what goes on in his head as we size each other up, but my thought process goes something along the lines of, ‘I bet he gets grossed out and caves before I do.’ 

I invariably lose this battle 95% of the time (It’s true.  I’ve kept stats.) because beloved husband has that convenient excuse to get out of the house known as “work” and eventually I run out of things to serve the kids lunch on.

 Paper plates and plastic cups held some appeal as an easy solution for a while.  I discovered that they’re not my main focus of rage, though.  It’s those freaking pots and pans.  Especially anything that needs hand washing.  Actually, I’ve gotten rid of most anything that can’t be put in a dishwasher.  There’s a simple test for finding out which instruments of pain these are: you put everything in the dishwasher and if it doesn’t survive it didn’t deserve to live in the first place.

There is an exception of this rule for children and pets.  These qualify as definitely ‘Hand Wash Only.’  Won’t make that mistake twice.