Helping Mom with dishes was no favor at all
By Burton W. Cole
“In these enlightened times, it is a well-known fact washed dishes should be left in the drainer to air dry. Towels absorb and spread all kinds of germs and microbes known scientifically as yuckersmus maximus and heebitis jeebitis. Zowie.
(Note: This does not hold true for baths. Apparently, it's still considered uncouth to splosh onto the couch to air dry after a shower, especially if the blinds are open or you staying over a few days with your great-aunt Bertha's.)
My younger brother Timmy was way ahead of his time when Dad forced us kids to wash and dry dishes after Sunday dinner to give Mom a break.
We begged Dad to buy a dishwasher. “Why? We already have two,” he said, pointing and Timmy and me.
Mom could simply read a book or take a nap. But we didn't leave her out of the fun. We didn't leave her out of the fun entirely. We were always tracking her down and shaking her awake for a reminder on which cupboard or cabinet various dishes went.
And, of course, I believed it my duty to keep her informed on all the things Timmy did wrong and all the ways annoyed me. I knew Mom would want to track all these offenses on her scorecard for Christmas. These things are important to a mother, I was sure of it.
Timmy took his turn squealing a whole bunch of trumped-up charges about me. I knew Mom wouldn't believe him. Who'd believe him over me, the big brother? I was perfect.
Anyway, it always seemed to be my turn to wash and Timmy's turn to dry. I didn't think so, but he said he remembered and Mom and Dad always side with the cute little kid over the mature magnificence of the eldest.
So while I worked constantly, piling the rinse sink up high with clean dishes, Timmy was off memorizing the stats on the backs of his baseball cards or watching cartoons.
When the rinse sink reach spillover, I'd wake up Mom and have her yell at Timmy to get in there and dry.
Timmy sorted through the dishes in rapid-fire motion: "Clean, clean, missed a spot here (splash he tossed it back into the sink), missed (splash), dirty (splash), dirty (splash), clean ... no wait, there's a chunk of mashed potato (splash) ..."
Then he'd abandon the three of four dishes he kept in the drain rack, and run back to the living room to play with his race cars. He hadn't dried anything.
Of course, there was nothing wrong with the dishes he claimed were dirty. I fished every one of them out of the water and dumped them on Mom's bed to prove it to her. It was my logical and reasonable opinion that she should yell at Timmy. Again. And a whole lot more often.
Twenty minutes later, he'd sling the now-mostly-dry dishes into the cupboard and pretend to find more gunk on my freshly washed dishes piled into the rinse water. I'd run to Mom again with the dripping stack of supposedly dirty clean dishes while Timmy slipped outside to play baseball. Wash, rinse, repeat.
We never finished the dinner dishes in less than four hours.
Dad said we boys should do the dishes every night. Mom nearly cried. She said thank you but she that much relaxation would drive her crazy.
Well, Terry's got to be done rewashing the dishes now. I better saunter out to the kitchen and run a quick check on her work. It's almost time for my show to come on.
It's your turn to dry at burton.w.cole@gmail.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or at www.burtonwcole.com.