I said I’d do it and I did

It almost got ugly. The night before Key Day, I looked at the dishes in the sink. Like Elin looking at the real Tiger, I’d never known such loathing. If you’d given me a golf club, it would have got ugly.

I was done with dishes. No more. Twelve months of Cave Dwelling & no dishwasher. Wasted time. A half hour or more a day – on dishes. (That’s not to say I did them every day. Or ever, really. Most often I ran and hid when it looked like Paolo was about to crack).

Still, it added up to a lot of time, for far too long, of hating the dishes.

[NOTE: Attn hippies and earth mothers: I know dishwashers use more energy/water. But I worm compost. That's a green light to ruin the planet in other ways. I’ve the right to love, adore and fully utilize the modern convenience of a dishwasher.]

So I swear I didn’t stage this photo.

The night prior, I’d accidently soaked the inside of my trusty gloves. A year of practice meant I knew to dry it out with a balloon whisk stuck inside. A convenient reason to ignore the dishes for another night. The next morning, look what the dishes said to me:

Peace. OUT.

Divine intervention. And so, just like I’d threatened, I packed up the dirty dishes and carried them to their new palace in the hills: to the new dishwasher.

A half hour a day, given back to me like a prize! Clean counters – always! Empty sink – perpetually! Never again will I shy from a recipe for its heavy use of pots and pans.

Dishwasher, dishwasher, I love you.

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Tiger photo c/o the esteemed NY Daily News