When I was teenager, we didn’t have a dishwasher — well, not besides me and my sister — and it was mostly me.

I’m not sure why we didn’t have one, we certainly had all the other major appliances — no one was washing clothes by hand out in the backyard or anything like that.

Like this — but sheets!
Like this — but sheets!

But, come to think of it — we did have a dryer, but unless it was the dead of winter, we hung our clothes outside on the line. Nothing like the sheets — the ones that froze solid before they dried — that could stand up by themselves! Those were fun to fold.


I have a suspicion that it might have been a first generation immigrant thing. Dishwashers were for those Canadians. Why waste your hard-earned money on them? You (or more likely the females in your family) could do them much faster anyway.

I didn’t live in a place (for very long) with a dishwasher until I was 25 years old. My first house was pretty basic: a fridge, a stove and a giant old-school microwave. No washer or dryer — we had no space for them — and certainly no dishwasher.

It’s been a long time since I was 25 and I am now familiar with them. Familiar — not friendly.

This is not us after a lovely dinner.
This is not us after a lovely dinner.

Much to the amusement — and perhaps veiled vexation of my beloved — I’ll wash and dry dishes by hand before I think to put them in that stainless steel contraption.

I also don’t like to unload the thing either. If it were up to me, I’d just store some pots in it. (I briefly lived in a rental condo before I lived in my first house and that’s what I did then. I also stored my pants in the kitchen cupboard — that place was tiny!)

I am getting better. I have loaded and unloaded the dishwasher 4 times in the last week.

I’ve also washed things by hand about as often.

But the kitchen is always “spick-and-span” as my late Mother used to say. She’d be proud — plus she was a bit of a lovable kook, too.

bookmark_borderIn flagrante delicto — brilliant!

Hands off my All!

You have to hear this, it’s brilliant. Passive-aggressive perhaps, but brilliant nonetheless.

Someone I know (a real someone) lives in a place where the laundry facilities are shared. It’s not a big place — think a multi-family house.

One of this certain someone’s (CS for short) neighbours had taken to using her laundry soap. Not just sometimes, but all the time. The neighbour even put CS’s full container on her shelf and moved her (ever) empty container to you-can-guess-where.

The gall, right?

But CS’s response was so perfect that I had to share it.

She put a note inside her full bottle of soap that said: “Stop using other people’s laundry soap — it makes you an asshole.”

A note outside of the jug would’ve accused everyone in the laundry room of ill doing. But this way, only the culprit would see the note in flagrante delicto.