The current Mrs Masher and I are in the midst of an
argument discussion at the moment.
We have decided that this will be the year when we finally get round to doing the kitchen and – let me tell you – it’s been a long time coming!
But Mrs M has decided that on top of the thousands of pounds that this whole new kitchen is going to cost us, she has decided that she wants a dishwasher.
OK, the extra few hundred quid isn’t really the issue here – though I’d rather not spend it if I could avoid it – no, the issue is that I don’t want one.
Dishwashers are the height of lazyness, in my opinion. Rather than wash the cup and plate that you’ve just used, stick it in the dishwasher. And then, at the end of the day, when the washer is full, you can top it up with one of them expensive tablets with a “Powerball” and let it run up your electricity bill.
I really don’t know why she wants one, as I tend to do the washing up most of the time anyway. I don’t mind doing it. It doesn’t bother me and it doesn’t take long.
Take last Sunday: Mrs M cooked a full monty roast dinner, including dessert. The pile of plates and pots and pans stacked up in the kitchen afterwards, certainly looked daunting. But, with me washing and her drying, we had the whole lot washed, dried and put away in just over fifteen minutes.
Had we used a dishwasher, it would have taken at least ten minutes just to get everything stacked in there (and we’d probably have to wash the bigger saucepans in the sink, anyway!). Then we’d have to wait a couple of hours whilst it washed and dried everything, sucking the lifeblood from the local electricity sub-station as it did so, and then – later on, when we really couldn’t be bothered – we’d spend another ten minutes unpacking it and putting everything away.
The other thing that annoys me about dishwashers, is that they become yet another cupboard in the kitchen. Many a time I’ve visited a friend or relative and been offered a hot beverage only to be told: “Oh, all the cups are still in the dishwasher, I haven’t emptied it yet. Gimme a minute…”
I know that this is an
argument discussion that I’m going to lose, but maybe Mrs M will see her folly when I refuse to load the infernal contraption and continue to stand at the sink, watching the neighbours through the window and enjoying the satisfaction of placing gleaming white crockery, OCD-like onto the draining board.
Someone once said to me that life is too short to spend time washing the dishes.
I beg to differ: life is too short not to.