Our dishwasher broke sometime over the last week, and I didn’t know it but my fiance just kept running the dishwasher assuming that eventually the dishes would get clean.
Spoiler: they didn’t.
Our dishwasher is busted. Super busted. And it turns out, you never really know someone until you have to wash dishes with them.
You Never Really Know Someone Until You Have To Wash Dishes With Them
We’re now trying to wash our way through a week’s worth of dishes and it’s not going well. We have fundamentally different washing styles that do not mix.
Me? I’m an efficiency washer.
Dishes should always be scraped and never stacked in the sink. This way, the sinks are clean from their last wash down and ready to go when it’s time to wash dishes. I put washed dishes into the other, empty sink to rinse at some point and power through everything, sometimes double fisting dishes.
My fiance is a meticulous washer.
He’ll stack piles of dirty dishes in the sink to work around when he gets to the dishes, then scrub off all the things that could have been scraped off with his nails. And dishes, once scrubbed, never, ever touch the sink. Which means you rinse immediately.
I’ve accepted that in our dishwasherless state, hand washing is a one person job.
I rush through things…
He takes his time.
I want to get in, get out, and be done…
He wants to inspect every single flipping dish for manufacturing flaws, probably with a magnifying glass (I’m guessing), and I’m sure he’d name them if he could. Bob. Sue. That one.
Regardless of who is doing what, it’s grounds for World War Three.
As a couple, we work pretty darn great, but there’s just some areas where we do not mesh. Apparently washing dishes is one of them.
At this point, we’ve just got to accept that only one of us can be the dishwasher champion. At least until we get a new dishwasher. Please, dear sweet Jesus, let us get a new dishwasher as a wedding present!