This is my first TiMoBe blog post, and I dedicate it to Sed, who asked for a story.
I woke up thinking about this promise I made when I was in the 5th grade and it still makes me laugh.
We were grocery shopping at the old Albertsons in Oceanside, CA (on Mission Ave, before the city built Route 76). We bought groceries, rented movies, or went down the street to the Thrifty Drug Store for ice cream if we were good (Insert nostalgic Woot). This particular time, it was Mom and my two little brothers. Up and down the aisles we went, asking Mom for stuff and picking with each other. As we walked, something magical caught my eye. I heard a choir of angels as I gazed upon this wonder of modern technology.
I went over the moon and back. Once my feet were planted firmly on Earth, I grabbed the magic spear of greatness, and presented it to the Mommy (who was looking quite spiffy I must say) with the request for acquisition. She said no. I then said what can now be listed as one of my top dingbat statements of all time. I know you don't believe me, considering the quantity of statements to choose from, but this one is up there.
"I'll do dishes forever if you buy it."
Now, with three brothers and a schedule of weekly dishwashing schedule, I didn't know how good I had it. Hindsight is 20/20, but I wore glasses then. So when Mom turned and repeated my phrase back to me, I jumped right on it, and confirmed that yes, I would in fact wash the dishes forever. Rain, hail, sleet, snow, death and decomposition meant nothing to me. I would wash the dishes. Forever. Mom confirmed that my brothers witnessed my vow of eternal dishwashery, and proceeded to put the magic piece of, well, magic in the cart.
I think now is a good time to mention I despised washing dishes. I still despise washing dishes.
I stared at it in the cart. Right in front, near the leg holes where my little brother would have gone if he were still a toddler. I was ecstatic.
She bought the contraption. We shall call it "soap sponge". Mom even bought additional dishwashing liquid. I felt like Eddie Murphy in The Golden Child for I was The Chosen One, and with my Ajanti Soap Sponge I would rid my world of Sardom Numspa (i.e. dirty dishes). At least at my house.
I couldn't wait to get home and have dinner. I don't remember what we ate. It didn't matter. I was about to perform dishwashing history.
The meal ended, and my brothers left me to my kitchen. It was on like Donkey Kong. I filled my soap sponge with dishwashing liquid, and proceeded with the first dish. It was great. Suds and water and cleanliness abounded. Same for the second dish, and the third, until finally all the dishes were washed and waiting to be dried and put away. You couldn't tell me a thing.
Days passed, and no one could touch my perfect kitchen world. I was Queen of dishness. Cutlery and Corelle paid mucho homage.
Then came the first day of week two. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner came and went. I returned to my throne, only to find a sink full of dishes, and a jacked up stick of a thing that was slippery and gross. This was not my Ajanti soap sponge. Where did the magic go? Someone came and changed my beautiful piece of technology for some cheap piece of plastic with a worn out square that wished it was a sponge on the end. My world came crashing down. I washed a dish. It sucked. I washed another one. It joined in on the sucking.
I was painfully reminded of how I despised washing dishes.
Stupid soap sponge.
Fast forward a couple decades...
I don't remember how I got out of it, but somehow I did, which is yet more proof that God exists and loves me. I think we moved to our new house in Oceanside and reset the standard of weekly dishwashing. Or maybe I stopped having to wash dishes when I took over the cooking (there's a story). The lesson I have learned is this: Forever does NOT last one week.
Imagine, plan, prepare, execute..."And you will know them by their fruit"
I woke up thinking about this promise I made when I was in the 5th grade and it still makes me laugh.
We were grocery shopping at the old Albertsons in Oceanside, CA (on Mission Ave, before the city built Route 76). We bought groceries, rented movies, or went down the street to the Thrifty Drug Store for ice cream if we were good (Insert nostalgic Woot). This particular time, it was Mom and my two little brothers. Up and down the aisles we went, asking Mom for stuff and picking with each other. As we walked, something magical caught my eye. I heard a choir of angels as I gazed upon this wonder of modern technology.
I went over the moon and back. Once my feet were planted firmly on Earth, I grabbed the magic spear of greatness, and presented it to the Mommy (who was looking quite spiffy I must say) with the request for acquisition. She said no. I then said what can now be listed as one of my top dingbat statements of all time. I know you don't believe me, considering the quantity of statements to choose from, but this one is up there.
"I'll do dishes forever if you buy it."
Now, with three brothers and a schedule of weekly dishwashing schedule, I didn't know how good I had it. Hindsight is 20/20, but I wore glasses then. So when Mom turned and repeated my phrase back to me, I jumped right on it, and confirmed that yes, I would in fact wash the dishes forever. Rain, hail, sleet, snow, death and decomposition meant nothing to me. I would wash the dishes. Forever. Mom confirmed that my brothers witnessed my vow of eternal dishwashery, and proceeded to put the magic piece of, well, magic in the cart.
I think now is a good time to mention I despised washing dishes. I still despise washing dishes.
I stared at it in the cart. Right in front, near the leg holes where my little brother would have gone if he were still a toddler. I was ecstatic.
She bought the contraption. We shall call it "soap sponge". Mom even bought additional dishwashing liquid. I felt like Eddie Murphy in The Golden Child for I was The Chosen One, and with my Ajanti Soap Sponge I would rid my world of Sardom Numspa (i.e. dirty dishes). At least at my house.
I couldn't wait to get home and have dinner. I don't remember what we ate. It didn't matter. I was about to perform dishwashing history.
The meal ended, and my brothers left me to my kitchen. It was on like Donkey Kong. I filled my soap sponge with dishwashing liquid, and proceeded with the first dish. It was great. Suds and water and cleanliness abounded. Same for the second dish, and the third, until finally all the dishes were washed and waiting to be dried and put away. You couldn't tell me a thing.
Days passed, and no one could touch my perfect kitchen world. I was Queen of dishness. Cutlery and Corelle paid mucho homage.
Then came the first day of week two. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner came and went. I returned to my throne, only to find a sink full of dishes, and a jacked up stick of a thing that was slippery and gross. This was not my Ajanti soap sponge. Where did the magic go? Someone came and changed my beautiful piece of technology for some cheap piece of plastic with a worn out square that wished it was a sponge on the end. My world came crashing down. I washed a dish. It sucked. I washed another one. It joined in on the sucking.
I was painfully reminded of how I despised washing dishes.
Stupid soap sponge.
Fast forward a couple decades...
I don't remember how I got out of it, but somehow I did, which is yet more proof that God exists and loves me. I think we moved to our new house in Oceanside and reset the standard of weekly dishwashing. Or maybe I stopped having to wash dishes when I took over the cooking (there's a story). The lesson I have learned is this: Forever does NOT last one week.
Imagine, plan, prepare, execute..."And you will know them by their fruit"
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