“Do the dishes first”.

As a child that nagging charge from my mom, was as much appreciated as “I am going to perm your hair tonight” or “That dress is getting a bit short. Time to lengthen it.”

“Do the dishes first” always came after supper. And after supper was the perfect time for a game of scrub behind the general store, riding bikes, or hiding out in our secret fort, planning strategic army maneuvers (well, listening to Glen’s). It was NOT the perfect time for that monumental task to which we were enslaved.

All those plates and cups, glasses, cutlery, pots and pans, and oh yes – plastic bags! Come to think of it, those clear plastic bags were probably to blame for making the daily task drag out far longer than necessary. Actually they were kind of fun. If the bag had a hole in it, we could throw if out. But the only way to find the hole was to fill the bag with water.

I found that hypnotizing. I could lose myself in daydreams of a magical water world where tiny streams squirted every which way, and sunlight created dancing highlights and shadows inside the translucence.

See, even years later as I recall those evenings, the crazy bags are once again keeping me from the important issue here – telling you I hated doing the dishes!

My sister and I usually “took on” the task together. She would wash. I would dry. In all likelihood that was because I was a procrastinator and would do anything to put off chores a bit longer. My sister and I usually ended up fighting or giggling about something, ensuring Mom’s need to remind us that time was a-wasting.

And we were lucky we had dishes to wash. It meant we had food to eat.

She was right. That happened sometimes!

Anyhow, this picture of my grandson, Eli, reminded me of my aversion to dishes. Perhaps it is a genetic thing. I think he not only dislikes the task. He actually tries to disguise himself.

Well Eli, it is not the worst, but DO call me if they mention perms!



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