Confession time. I do not wash the dishes. Yup, you heard that right. I don’t wash the dishes.
You see I’d like to blame my dad for this one. When I was a child he would bring home his prized deer he had shot. Most of the times it would hang in the basement. Sometimes he was polite enough to do his thing outside. I hate deer meat to this day. I can’t get the image out of my head.
What does this have anything to do with dishes you ask? Well here’s the thing. Since my dad was a hunter, my family ate deer meat often. It was always my job to wash the dishes after dinner and my brothers and sisters didn’t like to clean up their plate. I think they left the deer meat on their plate on purpose.
Yes, I suffer from post traumatic stress to this day.
At Thanksgiving dinner my aunt asked me to wash the dishes. I politely declined with a “I’m sorry, I don’t wash the dishes.” She looked at me and asked if I was serious. I laughed and explained why and that Shawn does the dishes in our house. Now this caused quite a stir and before I knew it my cousins and my sister were joining in the conversation. “What are you a princess, Kerri,” my cousin asked.
I promise you I’m not lazy. I cook. I clean. I do the laundry. I even fold the laundry.
We do not have the luxury of a dishwasher so every night after he comes home from work my sweet husband washes the dishes we dirtied up during the day by hand.
This is his gift to me. And guess what? He doesn’t mind one bit. I am his princess after all.