Some time in October, I ran my dishwasher and it emitted a noxious and alarming smell, something like the unholy spawn of hot rubber and electrical fire. I stopped the dishwasher and finished everything by hand. David made note to look at it over the weekend.
And then began our the weeks of sickness and the death, and more sickness, and it was last weekend that David was finally able to poke around the dishwasher's innards. He found nothing wrong, and we theorized that this was a fluke caused by the environmentally friendly dishwashing powder we'd recently begun using. To test this hypothesis, we soiled dishes wantonly, loaded the dishwasher, and ran it using environmentally destructive detergent.
The result was clean dishes, and no horrid smell. Apparently, it really is not easy being green.
I used to be of the opinion that a dishwasher, while nice, is a nonessential appliance, but a few weeks of hand washing and drying everything exclusively have led me to change that view.
And so today, I count among my many blessings that after a lovely Thanksgiving meal for eleven, the dishwasher is presently running. And I consider it only a small irony that as I write this, David is hand washing the overage.
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