Unreasonably Happy

by Patti

I never had a dishwasher in my adult life. As a result, my hands look years beyond their already-aging selves. When I look down at them, I see this:

Holy crap, when did THIS happen?

In reality, they're probably not that old, but all those years of tragic washing-dishes-by-hand (world problems!) have left them gasping for air - and it shows.

When we bought this house three years ago, I was over the moon to finally have a dishwasher - a stainless steel one, to boot!  I felt an inappropriate glee at the opportunity to load it, sprinkle that lemony Cascade into it, and hear its cozy hum washing the crust away - handsfree! Until..... it broke. I Dr. Googled the crap out of the Internet, looking for a fix. Alas, it seemed it was totally kerplunk, and it would cost more to fix it than was truly worth it.

That stainless steel con artist sat there mocking me endlessly for almost two years. We needed a new air conditioner, a new refrigerator, a new stove, a new microwave - and a new dishwasher kept getting pushed to the end of the priority list. I mean, was it really necessary when there were hands? So I carried on, washing the old school way, and then piling the dishes onto a towel on my kitchen counter top to dry - a mountain of glass and ceramic and silver. Kind of pretty IF IT WASN'T SO ANNOYING. AND MADE OF STUFF THAT HAD TO BE PUT AWAY.

This weekend, my hands were given the glorious opportunity to go all Benjamin Button! Because, it finally happened; its turn finally came: We got a new dishwasher!

Hello, lover

I know I sound like a spoiled brat. I mean, really? People have way worse problems than dishpan hands. Some people have THIS for a bathroom:

And I'm complaining about having to wash dishes BY HAND?

Yes, yes I was.

But not anymore!

The minute the dishwasher was installed by my MacGyver can do-anything-husband, I put on this shirt:

I didn't really, but if I owned this I would have. 

and drank my orange juice from four different glasses just to build up that dirty dish inventory. I made pancakes and eggs with TWO different pans! I used a spoon only once, which only meant I had to keep using new spoons, lots and lots of spoons! I couldn't believe how much work it took to fill my sink with dirty dishes. I mean, how come it seemed when I didn't have a dishwasher my sink was ALWAYS FULL?When the sink was finally full enough, I eagerly filled my new dishwasher and prepared to inaugurate it - and couldn't figure out how to use it. It's one of those sleek numbers with no buttons on its exterior. They're all cleverly hidden so that all anybody sees is a smooth, stainless steel face. What, me DO something? I'm just here to look pretty, y'all. I finally figured out that the buttons have to be pressed and the dishwasher door shut within three seconds, otherwise the things starts to pout via a series of "beep, beep, beeps". At last, the door was shut, and the machine began to sing.

I took a picture of my new love and texted my cousin. "Is it wrong that I want to make out with it?" I asked her. She wrote me back. "That's how I feel about my juicer. I understand." And then, because that's just the kind of girl I am, I Googled, "word for being attracted to appliances". And though I couldn't find a specific word for such a fetish, I did stumble upon a group that was welcoming new members. A very, uh, unique group that made my undying love for my new dishwasher look like stale indifference. These people were very, VERY fond of their appliances, and I will just leave it at that.

I am looking forward to our relationship - one that is protected by a 3 Year Warranty and based on a mutual love of sparkling glasses and sterilized dishes.

And one that, after that single kiss, is strictly platonic.