I'm a generally a flexible person. I'm not very picky and I don't have a tendency to whine. There is one thing though that just agitates me. It gets under my skin and makes me cringe. If I'm upset enough, Ill cry about it.
Doing the dishes. I cant stand it. In the Galindo household, doing the dishes is a phat deal. On all of the odd days of the month (ie. March 11, November 3) I have to do the dishes, and my thirteen year old sister does it on the even days (just as a side note, I always have more days during the year because most months end in 31, and start with 1. Two days in a row of dishes.)
Apparently, my family, myself included, doesn't know how to eat cleanly because by the time I do the dishes at night its jammed packed with leftover food and greasy grime. Its an eye sore. I know that I should be happy that I have food to eat and that my parents feed me and yes I am lucky, but I have a right to be heard.
Ive been doing dishes since the third grade, so has my sister. That is eight years of doing the dishes every other day, with a few exceptions. My brother is well into the fifth grade, he doesn't do dishes. Why? Couldn't tell you. Wish I could.
Today is December 15th. The dishes are piled up as I write... Sitting there, mocking me. I don't want to do them. I lose a little bit more of my dignity every time I slip on the pink rubber cleaning gloves.
Susan always tells me that I should get used to it because Ill be doing dishes for the rest of my life. I intend in finding a way to avoid that fate in any way possible.
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