Pardon me while I whine. Yes, I know I should be grateful that I have food to soil the plates, and that millions of people (possibly billions) get along just fine every day without a dishwasher. Yes, I know that I’m spoiled and lazy. But dammit, I hate hand-washing dishes.
Last week, I went to empty the dishwasher and found some random plastic parts in the bottom of the tub. “This can’t be good,” I thought. They seemed to have come from the spinning wand in the bottom, but I couldn’t figure out how to replace them. I decided to take a chance with the next load and run it. It didn’t work.
I went out yesterday and bought another dishwasher. Yes, I know the old one probably could have been fixed, but it was a crappy, ancient model that usually required two passes for items with dried food residue.
The store didn’t have any dishwashers in stock. The salesperson seemed surprised that I would ask if they did. Apparently, no appliance store actually stocks the items that they sell. They had to order one for me, and it won’t be in until Wednesday, which means I probably won’t get it installed until next week.
Did I mention I hate hand-washing dishes? I want to gag every time I feel little fragments of food brush my hands beneath the water. My faucet has two taps, so I can rinse in icy or scalding water, burning my hands or freezing them.
The obvious solution was to survive on takeout, but Hubby had a craving for fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cheese cauliflower and stuffing. He cooked, so I had to clean up afterwards. The He-Who-Cooks-Shall-Not-Clean deal seemed like a good one back when I had a dishwasher.
I’m pouting, I know. I’m a whiny, spoiled brat who doesn’t know how good she has it, but I’m unhappy.
)
