Pretty soon I’m going to have to forfeit and tackle the cold, stinky water with my bare arms. Yuck.

I am a terrible housekeeper. If I were all old school June Cleaver, there wouldn’t be a massive backlog of dishes to begin with, and I’d be able to find the missing gloves in the second place. They’re electric blue, for crying out loud. How missing can they go?

It doesn’t help that Ron’s as big a pig as me, and as big a junk whore (although he totally thinks he’s not) and he doesn’t work at home, so I’ve found myself sort of devolving into an actual disgruntled housewife. It’s eerie. And I’m terrible at it. And I’m also working, so how did I become a freaking housewife? The whole charm of being a housewife is that you don’t have to work. I imagine if I knew everything was paid without my input, I’d feel a little less joyless about the situation. Except that would just mean that I was a maid, which probably wouldn’t suit me, either. As I said: shitty housekeeper. Anyway, I have a million things to do and that looming, overflowing, monstrous pile of dirty dishes is crushing my soul. I don’t feel like slogging through the slush in 22 degrees and wasting an hour to do it to walk to down to the store for supplies for something I don’t really want to do anyway.

Okay, Ron can get 2 pairs of gloves on the way home, and we can wash dishes together until every last one is clean. That’ll make for a romantic evening.

The thing is that I really wanted to do some big cooking today: beans and stock and batters to freeze. But I need clean sinks to cook. And I also need those pots and pans that are languishing in the sink.

What I need is one of those commercial undercounter dish washers. That would be dreamy. We have a regular dishwasher, but it’s crap, and household dishwashers take forever. I think mine takes like an hour and a half for a load of dishes. I should make some kind of deal with myself: I do X important thing and I get dreamy commercial 2-minute-per-cycle dishwasher. Important thing X is going to also have to bring in money, because I don’t think the Dishwasher Fairy is real.

How did a dishwasher become my porn? Who am I?

I’ll think about that tomorrow.

ETA: Yeah, so I just cleaned the dreaded cold water soaking dishes, and it was so not a big deal. It took 3 minutes and wasn’t gross at all. Apparently I’m just a big drama queen. I think I’ve just learned something very important about why I never have a clean house.