Hell and Dirty Dishes

In my little demented Teutonic mind I like to see the Cosmos as a perfectly structured factory, with everything an assigned place with an assigned job. So, yes, I suppose that Heaven is the Great BMW Factory in the Sky.

So, in this perfectly ordered factory, it is obvious that one gets to cook and eat in Heaven, then the dishes go down the Cosmic Dumbwaiter (ah, perhaps there is an eternal role for Mattie Fox after all!) where the denizens of Hell get an infinite pile of dirty dishes to clean. When they are done, then they get to fold laundry.

So, yes, I am sitting in the kitchen looking at the carnage from last night, thinking of ways to put it off.

But I know, it only makes it worse that way. I will have to just dig in and start scrubbing. Make it a game. Have fun with it! Smile!

Cut it out. Amalia doesn't buy it, and neither do I. Doing dishes is part of the price of original sin. We weren't meant for this sort of work.

Nor for folding laundry. Now I imagine that there is some smiling psychotic who loves to fold laundry, who takes great pride in folding a perfectly symetrical tee-shirt. Well goody for them. Probably teetotallers too.

Feh!

As Holy Roman Emperor of the Europeans, San Franciscans, &c., we hereby declare today to be "Complain About Household Chores and Invest Far More Energy in the Complaining Than If We Simply Made Another Espresso And Took Care Of Them Day"

Bah! Humbug!