An old acquaintance once told me dishes were the bane of her existence. Amen, sista.
I’m not sure if there are words to adequately describe the depth of my loathing for this basic household chore. I’m looking through my thesaurus–hate, abhor, despise. These just simply will not do. Eskimos have like 5972 words for snow, right? They must have some kind of special word for disgust they specifically use in reference to dirty dishes.
I’ve had this hate-hate relationship with soiled tableware for as long as I can remember. Growing up, my siblings and I were each assigned dishes for a day. The deal was, you were only responsible for the dishes for a 24 hour period as long as they were completely done by the end of the day. Inevitably, I would have the dishes for days at a time. I’m sure my siblings couldn’t wait for it to be my turn.
One of my fondest memories of my freshman year of college is eating in the dorms’ cafeteria. Besides the obvious perks of cinematically themed menu nights (Star Trek was my favorite–I mean, come on, Chicken a la Kirk, Klingon carrots, Scotty’s scones–how can you top that?), there. were. no. dishes. At least not for me!
I keep thinking there must be some kind of logical explanation for my aversion. While I’ll admit my house is a couple of stones throws from immaculate, I have no problem doing dozens of other household chores. Do the laundry? No problem. Mop the floor? No problem. Scrub the toilet? No problem. Change the diaper pail? Actually, my husband does that. Thank merciful heavens. Anyways, my point is I am willing to do all sorts of housekeeping with little to no coercion. So what exactly is the deal with the fuh-reaking dishes? Did I have some kind of traumatic childhood experience that triggered a phobia or something?
I’ve done exhaustive research on this phobia thing. And by exhaustive, I mean I did the googler and ended up here. Apparently, there is no documented case of dishophobia in any reference book known to Fredd. Frankly, I just don’t understand how there can be enough people with lutraphobia (the fear of otters?) and geniophobia (the fear of chins?!) to justify creating an official diagnosis and reference book entry, and yet I’m the only nutjob with dish issues. Whatevs.
I imagine Dr. Phil would say a good strong case of lazyassophobia would cure the other thing.
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February 4, 2008 at 9:28 am
madhousewife
I have vivid memories of doing the dishes in the days before we had a dishwasher, and I was thoroughly traumatized by the experience of dipping my hands in the dirty sudsy water and touching soggy bits of food. It probably contributed to my cheerio phobia. (Yes, I checked the list and that isn’t on there either. Not under “cheerio,” not under “oat circle cereal.”) My husband does a lot of the dishes now, but one thing he does not do is clean the sink afterward–so there’s still bits of soggy food just sitting there (or worse, floating–::shudder::) and I just want to vomit. Actually, I don’t want to vomit, but it takes great effort not to. I actually don’t mind doing the dishes if they’re freshly dirty. If they’ve been sitting there soaking and there’s all this nasty soggy food and stagnant, food-contaminated water–*gag*.
Sorry for sullying your blog with my disgusting memories.
It was actually my dream as a six-year-old to have a dishwasher. Then when we finally got one and it turned out to be more of a dish-sanitizer–you had to wash the dishes before you loaded them if you wanted them to come out clean–I felt totally betrayed. If I wasn’t a total cynic before that, bad dishwasher technology definitely sealed the deal.
I think Mom & Dad should have made a deal with you that you’d never have to do the dishes as long as you cleaned all the toilets. Or something like that. I know you did other housework. That time you cleaned Mom’s desk downstairs should have been worth a fortnight’s worth of dishes. (Yes, I remember that specific chore. Your courageous example had a significant impact on my life. Okay, maybe not my life, but it’s definitely burned into my memory. Maybe you remember it, too. Maybe you’re still bitter! Maybe you’re just waiting for validation of your contributions to the household of your childhood, and until you have it, every dirty dish is like a slap in the face! Or maybe it’s that thing Dr. Phil says.)
February 4, 2008 at 9:29 am
madhousewife
Dude, that comment was as long as your blog.
February 4, 2008 at 9:41 am
bythelbs
Actually, I had originally intended to bring up the soggy food thing, but then decided I just couldn’t go there. There is nothing worse than a bowl full of old milk and soggy cheerios. They inflate to like 23 times their natural size. It’s horrifying. A bowl full of soggy life cereal comes pretty close–it just kind of disintegrates into one big blob. OK, I must stop now. The visuals are becoming overwhelming.
I don’t think Dad got a dishwasher that actually washed dishes until after I had moved out of the house. When I go back to visit I have a really hard time just chucking my dishes in there, food residue and all.
I have a very vague memory of the desk thing. I think I’ve been trying to block it out all these years. I’m going to go with your analysis–it’s more flattering to my character.
Please don’t feel the need to give the RDCV of your comments. This way, if you neglect to post on your blog for a few days, I’ll have a satisfactory dose of madhousewife.
February 19, 2008 at 10:26 am
The ol’ leaking powder keg « By the lbs
[...] P.S. I never got to see how that Mythbusters ended–I must have been doing the dishes. [...]