In our seven years of being married, we have lived in seven different residences. Houses, basements of houses, apartments, duplexes... and one may understandably assume that dishwashers are fairly common, here in Utah.
But you know what happens when you assume...
Yes. In the last seven years, I have had a dishwasher for a mere 6 months. SIX MONTHS. And do you know where we lived during those six months when I had this lovely dishwasher?? Texas. So sure- it's hotter than hell and you're away from all of your loved ones, but here- have a dishwasher.
So that means that for nearly 7 straight years, I have been washing all of my plates, bowls, pans, cups, tins, tupperware, silverware, etc. with a sponge and dish soap whilst weathering my poor dainty hands which now look like wrinkly old prunes.
Earlier this year as we were looking around to buy a house, one requirement I had was (you guessed it) a dishwasher. And this house has a dishwasher. But don't hold your breath, folks. This dishwasher doesn't work. And as an attempt to make up for that atrocious fact, the nice sellers said "Oh, sorry about the dishwasher. Here- have our old lawnmower." Come on! Justin can use scissors to mow the lawn. I need my effing dishwasher.
However. Being the adaptable person I am, I accepted this fact and happily (begrudgingly) continued to wash all dishes by hand.
But earlier this morning, Justin and I were downstairs, and I heard a very unfamiliar (yet very welcomed) noise. I rushed up the stairs to see where this marvelous noise was coming from. The supposedly dead dishwasher had magically sprung to life and started it's "High Rinse" cycle. Kennedy hadn't touched it. I hadn't. Nor had Justin.
Must have been the house elves.
I was so happy that I danced a merry jig.
Whoever it was? Thank you. Now bring on the dirty dishes. If any of you have some, bring them to my house. I will be happy to let my dishwasher clean them for you. He's wonderful.