The Dishwasher Knows Too Much
The Dishwasher Knows Too Much
The dishwasher knows too much. It’s seen things. The same plates. The same forks. The same bloody meals on repeat. If it could talk, it would probably ask, “Are you cooking the same fucking meal every day?”
Yes, dishwasher. Yes, I am. Because it’s easy. Because I’ve worked all week, I’ve got a kid with expectations, a dog that wants walks, laundry that’s staring at me, and I’m just trying to survive — one roast dinner at a time.
Because it’s cold outside, that’s why. I can’t use the skillet on the barbecue because I ran out of gas in July and forgot to refill it. So yes, we’re having another roast dinner. Or a prawn salad. Or some random Vikki variation of a roast dinner that always — always — includes Yorkshire puddings, gravy, potatoes, and broccoli.
Chicken, beef, lamb, pork, sausages — they all take turns starring in the same predictable meal. But here’s the thing: it’s not just a roast dinner. It’s a *variable roast dinner*. Gourmet in spirit, powered by my Ninja air fryer, and served with zero apology.
“Why don’t you ever have pudding?” the dishwasher asks next, smugly humming its cycle like it’s better than me.
Because there’s a fruit bowl, that’s why. Why would I want to wash up extra dishes for dessert? I’m not insane. I already drink enough tea to fill half the top rack — mugs everywhere — because apparently, tea is my emotional support hobby while the laundry screams from the other room.
All I need to do is turn the machine on. But first... another cup of tea.
If your appliances start judging you too, you’re probably just tired. Or British.
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