I am officially the proud owner of my very first dishwasher. So long to chipped nails and chipped plates, farewell to Sunlight dishwashing liquid and grubby scrubbing sponges, adios nasty bits of old food clogging up the plug hole... and hello freedom!
After years of stubbornly refusing to get a dishwasher (it seemed unnecessary for a household of two and I'm a bit of a martyr when it comes to chores) I have come of age as a Sandton housewife. I no longer have to manually wash my own cups and plates and smoothie-caked blender. Oh no, I have a machine that does that *huge self-satisfied grin* because hubby found a way to buy it without needing my consent or giving me the chance to refuse, he cleverly disguised the dishwasher as a Valentine's prezzie and every girl knows never to look a gifthorse in the mouth.
Now before I continue – I can hear all the women in the Great North going 'aaaargh, I can't believe she fell for that. What next? A new vacuum cleaner for Christmas' – and before you start burning your uplifting wonderbra in some feminist rant *breathe* and let me state for the record that hubby also bought the standard issue cute card, single red rose and heart-shaped box of chocolates for V-Day. Happy? Okay, let's move on ... back to where the focus of this post must be at least until the novelty of the new appliance wears off (which I estimate'll be in 2012 round about the time that hubby buys me one of those amazing fridges just for keeping your wine collection at the perfect drinking temperature *hint, hint*)
I am looking so forward to giving the new appliance a proper test run on Friday evening after I've fed eight people three courses and used every pot, pan, whisk and utensil in the kitchen. I can't wait to shove all the mess in it, close the door and let the gentle hummmmm of the dishes being done (without my input) lullaby me to sleep. Now, I've just gotta figure out how I'm going to put the extra hour a day, 7 extra hours a week, 30 hours a month and 360 hours a year to good use.
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