My wonderful, loving husband will cook every now and again, which for most women would be a real treat, right?, well not for me. This is because he uses a different utensil for everything. Peas get their own spoon, so does the boiling pasta, the cream sauce and the sauteed chicken. Sounds kosher, which I (and my colon) would happily tolerate, if he didn't promptly deposit each utensil into the sink after one turn, one flip or one stir, just to pull out a fresh utensil for the next culinary action. So, after one of his escapades around our 36 square foot galley kitchen, I am left with a sink full of dishes. I have had some married girlfriends say they split the dinner time chores, one cooks the other cleans up, but I ALWAYS clean up, whether I stirred the pot or not.
So, sometimes, in disregard of my delicate sensibilities and in spite of myself, I go on sink strike. The dirty dishes seem to multiply at night, like gremlins, with even a single drop of water. Frustrated, I make sweeping and unrealistic declarations like "I am never touching a dish again!" or "I don't care about the trees it will kill or the money it will cost, we are going purely paper plate!" or "We are never cooking again - it is raw fruit and veggies and tuna out of the can for the rest of our lives!". Obviously, I love trees, so I don't even buy paper plates and to never touch a dish is just plain ridiculous and to only eat raw fruit and veggies and tuna would be too healthy a lifestyle to maintain for more than just a few exasperated hours. But, I strike anyway. But what boggles my mind is how the dishes continue to bubble up from the sink when I strike from cooking too! How in holy housekeeping heaven and hell can there be a dirty dish when I haven't cooked in four days?! (Avoiding cooking, by the way, is an art form I will cover another time.)
So, my kitchen sink, the centerpiece in my tiny kitchen has been breeding dirty dishes for a couple of weeks now. I get the sink clean and within minutes it is as though the drain spews forth a used pot or plate with stuck-on cheese from the nachos the hubby made two nights ago. Like the devil himself (or the hubby for the realists) waits, silently and patiently, until I have cleared the sink, then like mission impossible stealthily deposits into the freshly polished stainless steel sink, the dish he hid under the bed because he knows I hate dirty dishes around the house MORE than I hate a dirty sink.
The sink, something I need to complete tasks as mundane as prepare a pot of coffee and as necessary as cleaning our fresh veggies, is perpetually filled with something slimy and smelly and sticky (how can something be slimy and sticky?!?! ewww!!). I admit, I am bad at this housekeeping business, but this just makes everything stink - literally!
I never thought the kitchen sink could be such a thorn in my side.
Dirty Dishes! But its not like I am unfamiliar with the dish soap and sponge - they are there!
Fifteen glorious minutes of a clean sink. Ah, I can happily and easily prepare a dinner in this sink!
Eighteen minutes in - the hubby came home and walked into the kitchen. When he walked out, the sink had spewed again. It never ends.
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