Water, Water, Everywhere ...

Those of you who’ve been to my house at times other than when I’m expecting a few or more people may have noticed that I sometimes shy away from doing dishes in a timely fashion. You may also have attributed this to sheer laziness, an attribution not altogether unsupported by some of my other behaviors (or lack thereof).

It’s not so.

I have never … never … done the dishes without ending up drenched from my belly to my knees. Usually, it happens while washing a bowl – the thing’s half full of soapy water, my thumb slips, and KERSPLASH! a tsunami-like wave of suds (Palmolive – now with microbeads!) is sent over the edge of the sink, cresting just past the counter, and crashing down upon my midriff in a manner not unlike scenes from The Poseidon Adventure or The Perfect Storm.

Square Tupperware containers are worse. Somehow the corners can generate a lot of extra force, and the impact has, at times, left bruises. I’ve taken to just throwing them away after one use.



I came close to success once. I had done the dishes the night before (and had dried myself and the floor), and had nothing but a cereal bowl on the counter. I carefully filled the sink (just a quarter full – you don’t give your enemy extra ammunition during battle), put on slip-resistant rubber gloves, then ever-so-slowly immersed the bowl. I held it against the bottom of the sink to minimize the chance that an errant muscle twitch would unleash some aquatic fury, and ever-so-gently, washed, then rinsed, and finally, oh sweet jesus, finally set the bowl down in the rack to dry. I looked down, and not a drop had touched me. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that I had finally won, and reached for the spoon ...

I don’t know a damn thing about non-linear fluid dynamics. I do know, however, that a tablespoon can launch a shitload of water.

So please – rather than judge me on what might appear to be pure sloth, keep in mind that it’s something of a hassle to get in and out of a wetsuit.