Ok that was probably a tad bit over-dramatic, but with a title like that, how can you not be intrigued? (Grin)
Now, for those of you who don't know me very well, I must inform you that I've *refused* to use a dishwasher for years. Why would I refuse such a blessed help, you ask? It's very simple....Pride! (I've got a MAJOR root of pride to weed out of me yet...ahem...moving on...) Anyway, I honestly believed that I could do my dishes far better & faster than any "machine" could. (Picture if you will, a short brunette w/her nose in the air and arms folded in defiance across her chest like a spoiled child.."Humph!" That would be me!--Wink)
However, during my recent trip to CA my precious hubby decided to defy the unwritten law of his wife's kitchen (behind my back, mind you!), and RUN the dishwasher! (Gasp, shock, horrors! What a traitor!)
And lo and behold...the darn thing worked really, really well. (Double "humph!")
So, fast forward to this week. I use (pink!) latex gloves to wash my dishes and do all my other household cleaning, lest my highly sensitive skin become exposed to cleansers, soap & detergents. Contact with these harsh chemicals leaves me with ghastly looking cracked, itchy hands. Weird, huh? But it's the truth. I don't know why I have this condition, as I certainly didn't for the first 24 years of my life. But I figure it probably stems from the highly disregarded fact that my delicate "rose bud" hands were NEVER meant to engage in such awful things as housework. Afterall, isn't that what servants are for? Queens should have at least one, right? So really, after 24 long years of this horrid abuse, my hands announced they had had enough...Sounds good to me!
Sorry, got sidetracked...anyway, I noticed how my right hand was suddenly peeling again. (Yikes!) Dean, my wise King (and part-time Court Jester) suggested that I examine my gloves for holes. Alas, there were two! So, into the trash they went, with much weeping and mourning. (Hey, they were really pretty pink gloves. Don't knock 'em!). But now I was left with a yucky predicament...leave dirty dishes in the sink while I wait for pay day, a whole 48 hrs. away (and thus new gloves)?
Or...? (HUGE GULP!)
And so...with the Ceremony of the (PINK!!!) Gloves behind me, I unwillingly inducted myself into the "Can't Handle Washing My Own Dishes, So I'll Use the Dishwasher Instead Society". (I'm so ashamed! Sob!)
At first, it was really tough. (Sinking pride, 12'clock! Whoop, whoop! Aruugah!) There were times when I could have sworn I heard soft, mocking laughter coming from it's sudsy motor. Yet, 48 hours later the process of loading & unloading that thing became almost second nature. (Almost made me feel like a kid again in my mother's kitchen...ahh..the good ol' days when I got PAID to do that menial task) Ahem! Sorry about that. As I was saying, it got to be almost "pleasant". So pleasant in fact, that I didn't write the word "gloves" on our shopping list 2 days later. And what's really, really hard to admit, is that when something had to be handwashed (like say, after I put a forever unnamed item through the wash cycle the day before, only to come to the horrible realization that those "Not Dishwasher Safe" labels mean exactly that)...I cringed!! I felt so utterly annoyed at the very idea of getting a sponge wet and washing it myself. (Breathe one word about this and I'll deny it all! I don't care if it's in my personal blog!)
And while that shiny white, barely-used, mechanized servant is highly convenient and does a pretty good job, I do have two bones to pick with it....wanna know what they are? (Clearing my throat now for emphasis.) It is much, much slower AND...It leaves my lipstick residue behind on cups and glasses! (I can just imagine your horrified gasps) Of course, this is something I ALWAYS managed to clean off, thank you very much! (Uh huh! That's right...who's the master now? Oh yeah!)
Ha! You see? I am the better dish washer!
Boy, I feel better now that I've realized all that. Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to do the Obnoxious Mocking Dance of Superiority in front of that arrogant piece of modern day convenience. (Na-na, na-na boo boo...I'm still better than you-ooo!)