I am not your sink whore!

4 days.  I left them for 4 days.  I tried.  I really did.  I was making a point.  My point: do your own frickin’ dishes! There weren’t even that many:  a frying pan Rissa had used for scrambled eggs, cutlery, some serving utensils, that green, silicone, paint-stick-style stirrer and some wee ice cream bowls.

I couldn’t take it any longer.  I couldn’t.  The stench got to me.  I can only hold my ground until there’s a stench.  I caved.  I washed the dishes.  I couldn’t leave them another day.  It was the stench.  I had to eliminate the stench.

Basically, it comes down to this – I am the only one in the house who cares when it is clean.  Just me. In our living room there is a box of old media – VHS tapes and DVDs with a couple of universal remotes and cables thrown in for good measure.  David put the box there 2 weeks ago.  It is not my box.  I didn’t put it there.  And yet, I have this preternatural clairvoyance that tells me I will be the one moving it.  Because I will go crazy before the others do.

If I’m cooking in a mad dash and David comes in – he is horrified by the state of the kitchen mid-dinner  prep.  He’ll put things away and say things like: “How can you work like this?”  But the house as a whole?  Neither he nor Rissa really give a rat’s ass about it.  But if I try to play the ‘let’s see how long it takes them to notice’ game – I’d be waiting until the SECOND FREAKING COMING before it would occur to them to clean up their shit.  ‘Cause that’s the thing – it’s THEIR shit.  NOT mine.  THEIRS.  Okay it’s mostly their shit.  The chicken wire in the living room is mine, but that’s there for a reason.