No. 3: Awe, Crap, or "Why I Don't Do the Dishes"


Hi. Hello from hell the Valley of the Sun. Have you seen the weather here lately? It's freaking hot. 115 degrees today. I got in my car after work and I was all, "Okay, Big Guy, are you ready to take me home?" and he was all, "M'eh."

It's too hot. It's not a dry heat when it's this hot. Things sweat. It's gross. I get home and my legs are gritty from salty sweat. If I have parking lot duty I can feel a trail of sweat start at the nape of my neck, go down my back, down my leg, and drip on my sandal. TMI? Maybe.

Here's a less sweaty story.

Before school started I was doing some dishes. Two of my favorite white dishes were stuck together. When I picked them up, they magically fell apart and then, of course, they broke. The top one fell on the bottom one. They broke each other. I was devastated.

Jeremiah came home all excited because I had done the dishes but then I pointed out the horrific site of the accident and he had the decency to pretend that he was upset, too. Or maybe I just imagined that. Grief is tricky sometimes.

I thought that the dishes could live on and be repurposed. Not by me, though. It would have been too hard. So I took them to work and gave them to the art teacher, who couldn't contain her glee as she announced that "They'll be perfect for mosaics! Or, I mean, I'm sorry they broke.".

I never loved you dishes anyway. You are dead to me.
I should point out that this is why I don't do the dishes and it is also why I get my dishes at Goodwill and Salvation Army. All of this heartache probably only cost fifty cents, at the most. Jeremiah tells me that there will be other dishes, but for now he's doing double dish duty, as my set of four perfect white dishes has dwindled to two perfect white dishes.

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