5th February 2012
Dear Cassi,
So yesterday I told you of my dishwasher woes today I will tell you of how the washer came into my home. I have little recall if this was 2003, 2004, or some time before that, but its arrival brought no joy. I recall that I was having money problems and working myself half to death to get out of them.
At the time my completely unloving family made a token effort to hold up their end of things. One of the points of contention was the fact that it was one of Paul’s responsibilities was to wash the dishes.
The man was never very responsible. Dishes sat in the sink for weeks until they rotted. Even when the dishes got done the caked on grime was never washed away. I would take a glass from the cabinet only to place it back in the sink. It got to the point that I just started washing dishes on my own.
In order to get Paul to wash the dishes my grandmother, who is on a fixed income, bought him a dishwasher. I was furious. Rewarding him for refusing to wash dishes was one thing but this raised the bills I had to pay by three hours wages a month at the time. To top things off the dishes still got back in the cabinet dirty.
When my grandmother asked I told her that all she had done was make my life harder. I recall her screaming “That is so stupid I don’t know what to say,” and slamming the phone down in my ear. Folks never did get the idea on talking things out before doing and so the idea of preplanning is lost of my genetic similars.
With the dishwasher broken I’m back to doing dishes on my own. You tell me, did this help in any way?
Stay safe, little sister
Richard Leland Neal
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