Goddamn Dishes

I wash the dishes most of the time.

Two people live in this house. And two cats. The cats only dirty up two dishes a day when Carol treats them to their beloved wet food.

It is great fun to watch them chow this stuff down. They get so excited.

I hope it tastes good.

I worry about that. I give them dry treats at night just before I stumble up the stairs to bed in feared anticipation of the day to come.

I keep three or four bags of the stuff in the cabinet up above the counter next to the kitchen sink. I am alert to and make certain to rotate the various "flavors."

I suspect a scam. All the snacks look the same, all the snacks smell the same.

I haven't tasted them.

My experience with human nature tells me that there is a factory somewhere cranking out these treats - in only one flavor - and packaging them as eight different, cat taste bud stimulating flavors.

Some dude saying "They are only cats, for Christ's sake."

This saddens me but there is no way to protect against it.

Such is the world we live in.

But I digress.

Two people, two cats and enough dirty dishes to justify having fed the entire United States army.

I don't get it.

If I stay on top of it and wash the dishes the next day it is not too bad. Although I still marvel at the number of utensils we soil.

If I skip a day I am doomed.

Who the hell ate all this food?

When I skip a day I have to chug a vial of 5 Hour Energy just to get me through the process.

I pile the dishes so high it becomes a clean dish version of Jenga.

I refuse to stop and dry anything. So I balance everything precariously. The plastic containers and taking lunch to work vessels end up on top.

Sometimes, when I am done, I step back and admire my skill at erecting clean dish mountain.

I am convinced that dirty dishes procreate but, being the sneaky bastards that they are, I have never caught them at it.