Monday’s Musings—Can I Really Love My Dishwasher?

My first dishwasher and I are permanently separated. After only two years of ‘irreconcilable differences,’ I had the bum extracted from my kitchen. I replaced him with a more modest, dependable brand. No stainless steel interior. No hidden buttons stylishly tucked into his upper lip. No complex cycles from which to choose. Just a plain, rinse-and-load, 2-choice-dishwasher. It is enough for me. I’m not complex enough for the dishwasher I dumped.

But I’m afraid. Afraid to love. Afraid to trust my new friend.

I loved my old dishwasher at first. Quiet and sporty, my dishes came out spotless—for a few months. Then, I began to have problems. An occasional spot here. A random piece of food there. Exactly two weeks after my warranty expired, it ceased washing dishes altogether. In fact, it seemed to take great joy in decoupaging large pieces of unwanted food into my dishes and glasses.

After 58 hours of phone conversations, a repairman came. He removed all of the internal organs of said dishwasher, but it was a temporary fix. A few months later, our relationship ceased. I resorted to doing dishes by hand. I had a vague recollection of how this was done, and after demonstrating this to my almost adult son, he helped, but begged for a new appliance.

I yielded.

So, I’m afraid to give my heart to my new appliance. Sure, I love and trust my refrigerator, but we’ve been together for two years now. He cools, freezes, stores an amazing amount of leftovers, beeps when I keep his doors open too long, and gives me fresh water. What else could a woman ask for?

My new friend has thus far, cleaned my dishes. Without vinegar, without much rinsing, without shouting into his interior. I simply load the dishes, and voila, they come out clean.

This will take time. A wounded housewife can’t commit to the first dishwasher that comes around. Here’s what would really steal my heart—if he ironed.

Got something to say? Go for it!