January 24th, 2006
And While You’re At It, Make Me a Sandwich
I firmly believe that one of mankind’s greatest inventions is the dishwasher. We always had one growing up. And my roommate Kymia and I were lucky enough to have one in our apartment in college. I have not had to do much hand-dish-washing in my life.
Most of the apartments for twenty-somethings in Raleigh don’t come with dishwashers. There’s a good chance that, when Steph and I get a place together this fall, we will not have one. I’m not worried, though. Washing dishes is my future wife’s job.
Yep, the woman can really wash dishes. I’ve tried to share this information with people on more than one occasion, but all I get is these horrified looks that read “I can’t believe what a pig you are!” You’re probably looking at your screen that way right now. I think I’m going to stop bragging to people about Steph’s dish-doing ability. I wanted to document it here first, though.
I guess when I refer to Steph and the dishes it sounds as if, even though I eat plenty of meals at her place and I’m always using her kitchen, she is stuck hand-washing all the dishes, all the time. And this is correct. But only because I am not allowed to do them.
The looks of disbelief that I get when people think I’m a chauvinist jerk are nothing compared to the one I got when Steph first saw me hand-wash dishes. Ok, maybe I did miss a spot here and there, I’ll admit it (in cleaning situations, I go for speed — I’m just trying to get things clean enough and get the whole ordeal over with). Also Steph got pretty annoyed at the water going everywhere. I have a sloshing problem, I’ll cop to that as well — when I’ve finished my last dish you have to wade across the floor and get a mop. Still I’ll argue to this day that with my method: a) you get done faster and b) given that the floor, counters, ceilings, etc. are all drenched it forces you to give everything a good once over. The whole kitchen gets cleaned!
Since that night, a few years ago, I have received approval to rinse and stack, so I stand at Steph’s side and do that. There is talk of me moving up to plates soon. It will be a long time before I’m allowed to clean bowls or cookware again. In order for Steph to accept that the dishes are done some specific rules must be followed, and I just can’t get the hang of them.
Mainly, the water you use must be hotter than fire. If you’re not sterilizing your dishes, how can you sure that every single foreign cell on that cup or bowl or spoon is dying a slow, agonizing death…? Yes, Steph is a bit of a germ-phobic. This is what gives her the power to plunge her bare hands into water that is practically boiling. I know I’m the man and I’m supposed to be the tough one in the relationship, but every time I come into contact with even a drop of her dishwater, I feel like bursting into tears. Meanwhile Steph’s in there going to town, her arms and hands glowing bright red. She scrubs with a vengeance and every single dish emerges in pristine condition. I’m telling you, she really is good at this.
With all the steaming water and intense movement, the kitchen stays pretty hot while Steph’s working. Basically, it becomes a sauna. I don’t do anything but stand there and watch and the beads of sweat just roll down my fivehead. (“Fivehead?” Yes, I don’t have a forehead like most of you do. Mine is much bigger. It’s a fivehead.) If you can’t stand the heat, I’ve heard you should get out of the kitchen, so I sneak away as much as possible. Steph is so wrapped up in smiting germs, it’s not hard. Then, however, I start to feel guilty for not helping in whatever menial way I can, so it’s back into the sweatbox for a while.
Anyway, this is why, in our relationship, washing the dishes is the woman’s job. However I’d like it noted that I do do my share of cooking and housecleaning.
And, of course, I handle all the “guy” stuff around the house. Which brings me to two more of mankind’s greatest inventions: the couch and beer.
Tags: Ideas - No Comments »
