Silverware: Nemesis of the Year

While I don’t particularly like washing the mountain of dishes that somehow accumulates in the sink, I’ll do it. Any hard-working individual would feel obligated to do so. Or an incredibly obsessive-compulsive person who can’t stand the sight of clutter, like me. Though, the one thing that manages to stay at the bottom until the very last moment has a tendency to drive me into a blind-frenzy.

Silverware.

Piles and piles of the man-made food-instruments taunt me as I stand there with my sudsy sponge and slightly dampened determination. I begin cleaning quietly, settling in for the long haul.

Though, as time goes on, my patience seems to slip away from me. Slowly at first, my pace quickening ever so slightly.

And then . . . .

My accelerated movements become a bit more jagged and twitchy. I have things to do and papers to write and I don’t want to be stuck here forever.

I overlook washing off all the remaining suds. No one will notice a few spots. It’ll all dry off eventually, anyway.

I start skipping the handles, too. No one licks the ends or uses them to pick up food. Running water is sufficient.

Some more time passes . . . . My sanity is suddenly at risk and I begin ranting in some crazy psycho-babble.

Meltdown: (Too graphics for some readers....)

Solution: