I may have to resort to dirty tactics to get a dishwasher...
Published 11/10/2011 | 11:14
THE DISHWASHER still isn';t fixed and by the looks of it there won't be any need for Himself to buy me a new one for our anniversary next week because we'll have split up by then. His alternative method of washing up (ie dipping dishes in dirty water) has become a serious bone of contention and I'm wondering now would it be recognised grounds for an annulment.
The dishwasher man came to take a look, despite the fact that Handy Andy across the road said it was dead as a dodo. 'Ah sure we'll get him to take a look at it anyway,' says Himself, reckoning he could save a few bob.
So the dishwasher man came, fiddled about with the machine, said it was an airlock, relieved me of €50 and left again. I loaded up dishwasher with all the dinner plates and turned it on in anticipation of hearing a soothing whirr. Nothing. Not a wag.
I rang the dishwasher man. It took Five messages before he got back to me and two days later he arrived to tell me there was something else wrong with it and he'd have to order the part. He relieved me of a further €50 and said he'd be in touch.
That was last Monday. The dishwasher is still silent, as is the dishwasher man and we are still washing by hand. Well when I say 'we', I mean, 'I'm' washing dishes. Himself is merely slopping around.
'Please please pleeeease change the water"' I begged him last night after he washed all the dinner plates, glasses, cups and pots in the same water. There was more food swishing around in the basin, than went into the kids mouths.
'Why?' he asks. 'Because,' I say through gritted teeth. ' The water is absolutely manky.' 'But that's what Fairy Liquid is for. That's what the ad says - 'it cuts through grease and dirt.'
'I tell you what, you dry and I'll wash,' I suggest instead, practically gagging as he proudly displays plates with stray bits of lettuce stuck to them on the draining board. Jesus has he never heard of rinsing? 'No I hate drying. I prefer washing.'
Finally I whack him over the shoulder with my tea towel. 'Give me the bloody pot scrub or buy me a dishwasher. Your choice' I bellow in his ear. He finally relinquishes his position as chief bottle washer and skulks off to watch a match.
This state of affairs can't go on much longer. I'm constantly standing at the kitchen sink in marigolds and I've developed a fascination with tea towels. A good quality check one is yer only man for drying up. Those flimsy towelling ones aren't worth a curse! God help me I've nothing else to talk about except the quality of tea towels and the merits of Fairy liquid over Quix.
If I tell him I'll leave him if he doesn't sort it out, he'll probably pack my bags for me so I'll have to think of something more threatening. Perhaps no more Sky Sports until a new dishwasher has arrived. Or maybe I should hide the remote altogether. Better still if I tell him that we should use the washing up as an opportunity to spend quality time together talking about our feelings. Now that would do the trick. I guarantee you I'll have a dishwasher quicker than you can say ' heart to heart.'