Who does the dishes?

 

 

Seems like folks just decided they don't like doing dishes anymore around here.  Oh, there's the occasional glass or spoon that's put in the dishwasher (and I do  mean occasional), but overall - I've become the dishwasher here at "home".  Been used to doing the frying pan every  morning, and bowls, glasses and spoons left by the busy, employed, folks, but past month or two it seems that Betty Crocker, or her lesser-known sister, Caroline (rhymes with turpentine) have moved in.  Baking stuff that's sweet and fatty for the health? of the family.  Seems like she loses focus right around the time when the dishes and bowls and mixers and spatulas have all piled up, and her task is done.  No problem, for I, Cinderfella, am here to tackle those kitchen messes.  And, amazingly, like some super-hero who stops a crime and disappears in to the night, there is never a word spoken as to how all these messes just vanish.  No word.  (like, "hey, thanks").  

After a couple months, when this Cinder-guy is chewing threw his lip cuz his leg is on fire, while hopping on one foot to scrub those criminal dirty dishes - well, I think it might be getting a bit old to always be invisibly completing these deeds.  Trying to just avoid the bitter, angry blow-ups that happen with regularity.  Better to be invisible.  This day, after washing these continually re-occurring dirty dishes and utensils, he has made himself a cup of coffee; maybe two.   The evil stepmother appears in the room, just after the counters have magically become spic-n-span, and the dish-rack is chock-full of spotless pots and pans, cups and flour sifters.    

The words seem to spatter out of her mouth, like the hot drops of grease that burn you when you're too close to the frypan, 

"I smelled something burning.  Like there was coffee on the coffeemaker burner before you made your coffee.  Just some stinky burning smell".      

Ahhh --- the silence is broken.  Hers anyway.  It's rare, a few seconds of silence.. when someone else is in the room with me.  And the acid-tone and vitriol aren't. so rare now.  Just another day.  My silence is severed briefly, "I'm sure it was something I did here..". 

I then retire to my little room.  Smiling in the knowledge that, while I don't know where I will be in a few months, I am rather hopeful that it will not be here.