Further to my previous post I have to now talk about the trauma of washing dishes.
How convenient that K is out on a music job and will not be back until midnight.
Which means I have had to do the dishes. And not just any dishes. The dishes that have sat jam packed in the dishwasher since Thursday.
Worse than that, K has been trying to fix the dishwasher and with each respective wash the crap that is still not coming of the dishes has been baked on even more with the drying cycle.
I hate doing dishes so much that I don’t even own a dishrack. I had to wear rubber gloves and they are yucky. Waaaaah!
It has taken me ages. Then I dried them. Oh the childhood memories of wet t-towels.
If my brother were here I would flick the wet towel at him as a reminder of childhood chores.
I cannot, really cannot believe that I even suggested