What's funny is, Anthony hates dirty dishes. He doesn't mind a moldy shower curtain. He can live with grass 2 feet high in the front yard. He doesn't mind walking on carpet where flecks of dirt get stuck to your feet. And it's no big deal if the trash is overflowing out of the can and onto the floor. Old egg shells and McDonald's fries strewn about.
But when it comes to dishes, he wants them washed! I understand. It's a small kitchen and we don't have many dishes to begin with. That's why I wash mine at least every other day.
Once in a while, I slip. Maybe I've let things pile up for three days. So Anthony either washes them for me or gets on my case in a hurry (usually he just adds to the pile). I tell him he doesn't have to do mine for me, to which he says: "Dude, we'll get bugs you know, right?"
Right, I concede. Right. But now look at our sink: 15 consecutive days with his dirty mugs, dirty glasses, dirty PB&J knives, dirty spatulas. There were other dishes he dirtied, but I cleaned those because I own them and wanted to use them myself.
Unfortunately, we've already got bugs. They live upstairs in the room above mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment