That's a Dish of a Different of a Different Color of Mold

I need a dishwasher.  Really.  We're living like crackhead kitchen over here.  You know when you just stare at the dishes.  Just stare at them.  They are sitting there all covered in egg yolk and ketchup and dried up salad dressing and old coffee.  And you just stare.  Then try to stack one more plate on the towering dish mound.  And it works, so you don't have to do the dishes!  You can eat cereal out of a coffee cup.  It's no big deal.  It's kinda fun and whimsical.  And cool and modern.  And stupid and lazy because I just don't want to do the dishes!

Why do I think having a dishwasher would cure this?  Actually, it would cure the guilt.  I could just chunk all my dishes in there and have them out of sight.  That would help.  I wouldn't feel so cracky.  I think sometimes that we should just use paper plates and plastic silverware.  But, I can't be that awful to the environment.  I mean, I guess I can.  But, I would feel terrible.

So, I will just sit here and hope they wash themselves.  Or get up and do it.  Or just stare at Jody until he does it.  Is it okay to start pulling woman moves like that?  Nag or something?  He's got to be expecting it at some point.  Nah.  I'll wait on that until I want someone to paint the house.

I hate you dirty dishes!  I hate you!  It's not at all my lazy fault that you are there.  Not at all.  It's all on you.  And I hate you!