After getting in from work last night, I dropped my bag, and wandered past my other half to the kitchen sink to begin washing up – picking up cups, plates and glasses as I made my way towards the kitchen sink.
“You really are completely blind, aren’t you”
“What do you mean?”
“You really don’t notice anything at all, do you”
My other half pointed at the kitchen cupboards. I finally caught on. Standing in the place our old dishwasher had stood – the one that broke two years ago – was a shiny new one with a giant red bow on it, and a tag with the words “Merry Christmas” written on it.
So finally I don’t have to wash up by hand any more. Finally I get some of my evening back. For the last two years, an hour of every evening has been spent in the kitchen washing up, drying up, and cleaning the tops afterwards.
Our eldest daughter wandered into the kitchen – no doubt hungry – and spotted me.
“You’re not allowed to be grumpy or complain about washing up any more”
“But I’ll still have to put everything in the machine, get everything out, and clean the kitchen after you lot!”
“Shut it! Not allowed any more!”