"Hm?" He answered, not taking his eyes from the TV. We'd been married a few years. We had no children yet. We live just south of the Arctic Circle, so winters are cold and days are short. Possible winter hobbies include stamp collecting or watching TV. We opted for TV.
"Did you run the dishwasher?"
"Hm?" He pointed the remote at the TV and changed the channel.
"Did you run the dishwasher?" I held up a grungy glass that looked like someone had eaten spaghetti out of it. A week ago.
"Yeah." He didn't look in my direction, just changed the channel again.
I picked up a mixing bowl that was still peppered with popcorn flakes. A nighttime staple at our house.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." This time he looked at me when he said it and noticed me inspecting our "clean" dishes. The truth was I remembered him starting the dishwasher. The thing sounded like a wood chipper with a cold. We couldn't watch a movie the same time it was running or we'd have to turn on subtitles.
"Well, I don't kn - aah!" I took a quick step back, my sock suddenly cold and wet. There was a suspicious looking puddle that told me either our dishwasher wasn't paper trained, or we had a plumbing problem.
Milk Man wandered the seven feet from the couch over to our dishwasher where I stood on one foot, the other one bent up awkwardly. He put his hands on his hips and stared at the machine with a disapproving look.
Fast forward two months.
Milk Man's tools permanently resided on the counter above the dishwasher. Every time we ran the dishes, we had to first wash them. Yes, we washed them to wash them. It may have been easier to just wash them, dry them and put them away, but it was the principle! I had a dishwasher and it was going to wash my dishes, so help me.
Every time we started the cycle, we had to pull away a small wood panel and shove a towel under the dishwasher to soak up the water that should have been washing my dishes instead of my floor.
Unfortunately, we'd done this for eight long weeks. When we were quite certain that no amount of plumber's tape was going to fix our little problem, it was time to throw in the towel and that year's tax return. We did our research and scoured sales for three more weeks before we finally bought a dishwasher.
And you know what?
This was my entrance into adulthood. I was nearly 25, a homeowner, a business woman, and happily married wife of five years. But I felt like this was a milestone for me. I was finally an adult! Why? Because it was the first time ever, I was excited to buy household appliances.
All those Christmases where my mother received a griddle, new dishes, or a shiny new freezer flashed through my mind. As did my response:
I wish I could go back and tell the 13 year-old me: "Don't judge. In 10 years, you're going to drool and covet that griddle!"
True to form, I bragged about my new dishwasher on my blog. Years later, I invited friends over to see my new fridge. And once I even said, "Oh, don't mind the fact that my front-loading washing machine has a bit of chrome and my dryer doesn't. There was $100 difference! Can you believe it?"
No. No I can't. And welcome to being an adult.
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