I've had some interesting new insights on the kind of person I am.
This is because I no longer am able to do my own dishes.
You see, after cooking, I place my pots and pans and wooden spoons, etc., in the sink. This enables me to have both hands free for the eating part of my dinner. But wait, it gets worse.
After eating, I like to put my plate and utensils in the sink, next to my still waiting to get done pots and pans. Sometimes, I will proceed to do the dishes. Most times, I prefer to allow myself a bit of digestive time, maybe read a little, watch a little t.v.
I no longer have those options. My dishes are doing themselves.
By the time my dinner plate is ready, my pots and pans are gone. In fact, I suspect that the minute I turn my back, whatever I have just placed in the sink somehow silently wooshes itself into the dishwasher.
Or, in the event the dishwasher is full, gets hand-washed, dried, and makes it back into the cupboard before I can say "Jumpin Jehosaphat!"
So you're thinking- 'Whoa, Center, get a hold of yourself! Am I to infer that some sort of mischevious imp is preventing you from your god given right to clean up after yourself?'
No, friend, no I am not. In fact, my fellow Americans, it is nothing so devious as imps, gnomes, faeries, frodos, or strange dishwashing pixies. It is my roomates.
Yes. My roomates are so on top of things, I don't even have time to say, "what the fuck?" before my face is scrubbed, teeth brushed and polished, and hair arranged. And I have honestly never felt so damn terrible to have someone clean up for me. I can't pull my own weight around the house- I can't even get my weight settled into one area for eventual pulling of said weight!
I think that I may have to resort to strange new tactics. Like, from now on, I'm just not going to bother with plates or spoons, or waiting for my food to cool. I'm going to shovel it right into my mouth while standing over the sink, loading the sponge with soap with the hand that isn't holding the pot, and kicking open the dishwasher with one foot while balancing on the other. I may attach a broom to the back of my pants and shake my ass too-- heaven know's I don't want to miss out on good sweeping time.
Perhaps eating isn't the way to go at all. Yes, yes, thats right- I'll make the food and then chuck it out! I won't even make food, I'll just rotate a circle of pots and pans and plates and knives in and out of the dishwasher and pantry area!
And then I won't have to live with the sickening realization that the passive aggressive judgments on my pile(s) of laundry, the eye rolling and deep sighing when I burn something on the stove, the head shaking, the quirked eyebrows-- all of it-- are exactly what my previous roommates must have been subject to, because they lived with me!
I now know that I am the messiest member of an anally neat and tidy house. And when living with normal people, I must have been the excessively clean and neat person following around after them on my hands and knees, scrubbing their footprints out with a toothbrush and clucking my tongue at their irresponisbility
I have never been so unhappy to be cleaned up after. Please! Please let me do my own dishes! I need to be a respectable, clean, responsible person again!