DISHING IT OUT

I love watching "House Hunters" on HGTV, but I always get cracked up at how picky some of the hunters can be, usually women.

"There's only one sink in the master suite bathroom!" (Big frown.)

"We'll have to gut this (perfectly nice) kitchen and start from scratch." (God forbid if there aren't granite countertops and travertine tile flooring at 40 bucks a square foot.)

"No dishwasher!! That's just not acceptable!"

Somehow I have beaten the odds and managed to live to be 60 years old without ever owning a dishwasher, other than myself and whomever I happened to be living with at any given time. Now, I can see the sterilization value in having one, but I've just never lived in a place that had one or had the burning desire to rip up the kitchen to accommodate one. So, it's dishwater hands for the Flaming Bore.

I actually don't mind washing dishes all that much, except when Big Bore goes on a cooking spree and dirties up every pot and pan in the place. This tends to happen about three or four times a week at Casa de la Flaming Bore, in which case his own built-in wash, rinse, and dry cycles go into overdrive. He knows better than to ask me to wash dishes when he goes on his cooking binges. That's simply not acceptable.