Iona Winter

I conducted an experiment this week in the kitchen. Not the cooking kind of experiment, but a cleaning one. To be honest I have tried a variety of similar ‘experiments’ over the years, but reckoned it was time to try another one.

“Leave the dishes, I’ll do them”, I was told and so I did, albeit disbelievingly. I had to give the ‘experiment’ a chance. In the back of my mind I was doubtful, but remembered that I had been pleasantly surprised before. One never knew what glorious surprises might lurk beneath the surface of another’s capabilities!

One thing I must make absolutely clear – I abhor seeing copious amounts of dishes on the bench when I get home from work. For some reason (one I’m totally unconscious of) it horrifies me!  Don’t get me wrong, dishes on other people’s benches is ok with me – just not in my kitchen, thank you very much.

When I got home ‘the dishes’ weren’t done BUT I generously let it go (“amazing work, good on you, give yourself a pat on the back” – I needed to give myself positive affirmations at this point).

Thinking back to the previous night; I had been told ‘the dishes’ would be done (at some point) and reckoned that maybe I needed to give ‘the experiment’ some more time. Unable to completely avoid the kitchen, I thoughtfully stacked the offensive objects in orderly piles (so I could make a cup of tea), cleared the sink (of another pile) and went to bed – it had been a very long day.

I should probably provide a rationale (aka my magical thinking) for touching ‘the dishes’. I reasoned that if they were well stacked, someone might notice and realise I’d been there (meddling with ‘the experiment’). Further along this track of illusion, I hoped someone might be able to read my mind, realise I was a wee bit agitated and clear the bench. Simple really – not rocket science at all.

The next morning I wrote a friendly (reminder) note – “Please do the dishes today.”  Mind-reading is one thing, but I figured written communication could possibly be more effective (in case ‘the dishes’ became invisible to the naked eye).

On my return, I was surprised to see someone had washed the cups (at least) BUT the rack was full (of course). “Maybe tomorrow” I sighed tramping off to bed to dream of lemony suds in sinks and sparkling countertops.

Today is a public holiday and desiring poached eggs I headed naively for the kitchen. Who was I kidding – ‘the dishes’ were there last night and there are no fairies in our house. Besides, I could smell them. I have an excellent sense of smell (shame about the hearing).

My lip began to curl (not a good sign). I couldn’t cook, there was no space. What was I to do? The bedroom doors were firmly shut. I had NO choice but to tackle the towering mountain before me. As I cleared the dish-rack a pile of rejected dishes grew. The washing process had clearly been a haphazard one (probably in response to my impending arrival the night before).

A bedroom door creaked (I wasn’t being quiet about the washing up process at all). “Why are you doing the dishes?” someone called in a cautious tone.

“Cos there’s no room to cook breakfast!” I snapped.

“Oh”, came the reply. They knew (from previous experience) that it would be in their best interests to remain in the safety of their room. I could hear the door being closed (very quietly).

My anger swiftly rose; a huge surge of energy which mushroomed (I imagined) out of and around the top of my head. In response to this silent rage, a baking tray promptly slid off the enormous stack of clean dishes and onto the floor. I had thought that it was well stacked – obviously an engineering fault there.

I had an eerie sense of calm as I retrieved the tray from the floor. Then without thinking I slammed it back down – twice! In true two year old fashion I thumped it with all my might. “I DON’T WANT TO DO THE DISHES ANYMORE!!!!”, I shouted (inside my head).

Sadly, my tantrum didn’t have the desired effect – attention. Nobody came running to see what the noise was, or to ask if I was ok. There was silence. I could still feel the reverberation in my arms. SILENCE. At this point (sitting on the floor with the tray in my hand) I had one of two options – cry or laugh. I’m proud to say I chose the later.

I gave myself a reality check, while laughing. My ‘experiment’ hadn’t worked (no big deal- errhmm). The poor old baking tray was dented. I am supremely thankful that inanimate objects don’t get hurt in the way humans might.

Do I need to learn some news ways of asking for ‘the dishes’ to be done? Or perhaps I just need to get a dishwasher!