Lots of Monkeys

It sits there in my kitchen. Generally not full enough to run, but full enough that I should consider running it. I’ve used one consistently for the last six years and it’s the first time that I’ve really thought about it.  I never really used the dishwasher until I got this place.

I had used them before, but not as the primary method of getting my dishes clean.  In fact, other than the nonstick pots and pans I use, it’s the primary method.

I never used them at home, possibly because my parents had the dishwasher dilemma.  The dishwasher at home was a glorified dish rack.  I remember its one knob, broken from heartbreak or being ignored.  I remember washing dishes when I was younger and in high school and hating it.  I hated the feeling of the rubber gloves so my hands were always in poor shape by the time dishes were done.  When I got to college of course, I had to do my own dishes in the lounge, but it was one dish and pot at a time—not overwhelming at all.  Now I have my own place and I and I only do the bare minimum in terms of dishwashing.

I’m trying to decide how the dishwasher took some time to warm up to, while I embraced the roomba wholeheartedly.  It was a very easy habit to pick up.  Putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher and running it.  I usually start it when I leave, and when I get back home from work there are clean dishes.  My usage pattern is about two loads a week, and I only have place settings for four, so that makes sense with a seven day week.  More if I entertain, but that hasn’t happened in a while.

I look at the one in my kitchen right now, and I worry about it giving up the ghost at the most inconvenient time.  I’d hate to have to start washing dishes again.