*my childhood...7:12pm most every night*

"Girrrrrllls! " *my mother* "Diiishhesss!"

and the negotiations would begin.

My sister hates doing the dishes.

My sister is the only unmarried woman I know who's mates have willingly bought her appliances.
Twice!
Two different boys have purchased dishwashers for my sister. And I understand why.

Nothing can turn that little-ray-of-sunshine (poetic license) into the coldest, darkest day of nuclear winter faster than the prospect of a full sink of dishes. Both those boys knew that a couple of hundred bucks for a dishwasher was a freakin' bargain.

*my sister* "I'm not doing the pots!"

*me* "Why do I always have to do the pots?!"

*my sister* "Well, I'm not doing them!"

*my mother* "Girls!"

*me* "Fine!" *whispered* "but you're doing all the plates, all the glasses and the utensils."

*my sister* "Na-Uh! No way am I doing the utensils too!"

*me* "That's not fair! Why do I always have to utensils?!"

"GIRLS!" *guess who*

This is the point where my sister washes the glasses and the plates, making gross-out faces and gagging whenever her hands come in contact with anything that is not either water, porcelain or glass. Then I follow-up by doing all other dishes in the house.

I'm not bitter. *that's a lie*

I just wish that as an eleven year old I had been bright enough to spend my allowance on a Whirlpool instead of on all those Tigerbeats.