The Dishes NEVER Stop. They Just Don't Stop. They Refuse To Stop.

I am at war.

My enemy is ferocious, relentless, and ruthless. Sometimes it even uses three words in a row that basically mean the same thing to show how vicious it really is.

The enemy? My dishwasher. The battle? Seemingly hourly.

I'm home at my parents' house and, ya know, I'm trying to do my part. I don't want to be a complete hanger on so occasionally I'll buy some dinner or booze. My parents couldn't be more thrilled, "Everything is forgiven! Twenty years of worthless sports equipment that your no talent ass did nothing with, off the board! Who cares about the SAT tutors that didn't help you get into a halfway decent school! Seven colleges and zero degrees? These three bottles of wine have more than wiped the slate clean!" Their enthusiasm shocks me, and I sense there's some sarcasm, but it make me feel like I'm contributing a bit and that makes me feel good about me. So, as always, I'm doing things for selfish reasons. 

But that's not even the real sacrifice I'm making here. I'm used to spending far more on food and drink than maybe one night a week. No, the difference lies in my extreme contribution and that's the dishwasher. At my apartment I just leave the dishes in the dishwasher and pick them out of there, but here I'm like one of those maniacs who deputize themselves at the Mexican border and make it their mission to guard it, only I'm guarding the house from dirty dishes. Once dinner is done? Bam, I'm scrubbing pots and pans. Cup laying around? I'm on it. Full dishwasher with dirty dishes in the sink? Line change!!!!

But no matter how much I try, I can't keep up with the thing. It's insane. Every single time I finish a meal I sheepishly tip-toe toward the dishwasher as quiet as a high schooler sneaking into the house, so as not to upset the Many Dish God, and hope that when I open his chamber it won't be loaded to the brim with dirty plates, and every time it is. Every SINGLE time it is. He wins the battle yet again. I start the both the dishwasher and the cycle of defeat simultaneously then prepare for our next round by grabbing a glass of water.

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AND GOD FUCKING DAMMIT THE BRITTA IS EPMTY AGAIN.

PS - This shirt expresses the only 4 emotions I have during quarantine and the full dishwasher makes me feel a mix of Mac and Dee. Get it here.