Dishes

When I was young, it was a miracle if after eating dinner I placed my dirty plate in the sink. It was a once in a year occurrence that I actually put my plate in the dishwasher.

My parents had to beg, plead, cajole, bribe, threaten, and performed songs from a Broadway show to get me to do the dishes. I hated cleaning dirty pots and pans to such a degree, you would have thought I was allergic to generic, hard-on-the-skin, dishwashing soap.

Perhaps my parents were too lenient, perhaps I was too lazy, but my youth was basically figuring out ways to get girls and how to avoid doing the dishes. Sadly, I failed miserably at the first task and succeeded greatly at the second.

Now that I'm old I love doing the dishes. It's is not only a passion but it's become a hobby. Having all the dishes cleaned and put away is almost orgasmic (yes, I finally got a girl and she loves the fact that I do the dishes).

Washing dishes has usurp watching television, playing video games, surfing the internet, and modeling (now I see why it took me so long to find a girl).

The feel of a soapy brush in my hand is a primeval rush. My obsession with washing dishes is solely a part of my elder years. I never would have been this dishwashing-friendly as a youth. I was a dishwashingist.

If I only knew then what I know now, I would have been more eager to wash dishes as young man. I regret all the practice I missed out on. Just think of how fast I would be at washing dishes today?