(Dayquil is an equal-opportunity fuckupper.)
The time machine still exists, more than five and a half years on, as a source of endless curiosity and frustration.
The time machine is the dishwasher, for the uninitiated. It's the first one I've ever had. I don't know if it works right and I don't know if we're loading it properly, I just know that people who put steak knives in it blade up and small bowls right behind big plates frustrate me to no end but I always try to remember it's new for everyone else too.
I think the space where it lives in the kitchen would make an amazing bake-station with a pull out pastry marble pocket and sliding shelves to store my Kitchenaid mixer and maybe the bread maker.
I look at new dishwashers and wonder if they would have more space and be a little quieter than this one that sounds like a 777 coming into the kitchen for a landing for a straight forty-five minutes. I wonder if the cutlery basket is even on the right side. I'm wondering if it gets a leak if I would ever know until the kitchen was ruined and I wonder how exactly it's supposed to be a time saver when we have to clean all the dishes, load it, run it and then beg each other to empty it, half of the dishes needing to go into the dish drainer anyway to finish drying because I won't stack wet Tupperware away.
So yeah..not any sort of massive time saver. I guess it's useful as a sort of autoclave if you're terrified of germs (being sick right now, this is becoming a thing I think about) or have an infant or two and only one free hand at any given time to rinse bottles but otherwise just...no.
I don't like it or need it or want it. So when it breaks it gets retrofitted as a bakery station.
Caleb shakes his head. No one is going to buy a house this size without a dishwasher, he says. We always have half an eye to real estate. Otherwise all the staircases would be slides and the pool would actually be a ball pit. But I've sold a big house in a hurry. You can make it yours but in a pinch it's easier if you make it easily imaginable as theirs, too, without a lot of work in between.
However since the pool is being drained this week it's TOTALLY going to become a ball pit.
WIN.
Though last time I was in one, someone had peed in it. YES I KNOW. I never let Ruth and Henry in one ever again.
What if the dishwasher was a false-front and if you pull it out there's a secret staircase to an underground bunker made up of caves cut out of the cliff?
Bridget- He pinches the space between his closed eyes. I'm so aggravating.
Hey, it's practical as fuck.
For what, exactly?
The End of Days, Diabhal. I tell him with wide eyes, between coughing fits.
The End of Days is going to come even sooner if you don't soon go rest instead of walking around questioning the usefulness of things people have come to rely on for the past sixty years.
I've had this for FIVE years. I rely on myself! *coughs*
It appears to be going well, too, I see.
You don't know my life. I once washed dishes in a hotel bathroom sink for a month straight. With shampoo. I tell him proudly.
Yes, well, unlike Lochlan, I choose not to force you to live like a vagrant.
Hey, at least we had dishes. It was better than the place before that. We wound up reusing paper plates.
Jesus Christ.
It was actually pretty fun.
Bridget-
What?
Can you stop?
Fill the pool with balls and we'll talk, okay?
