Another kitchen crisis
Lena, the built-in version of Ken, has been comatose since Saturday morning. I'd set her to wash the dishes the night before, and discovered that she might have washed 'em, but she hadn't done away with the dishwater.
Today the dishwasher doctor is coming. May the kitchen gods make her curable. (I think she just has something caught in a pipe somewhere, but neither of us knows how to find it or get it out.) It's not that I don't remember how to wash dishes by hand, but it certainly isn't one of my favorite undertakings, and once winter starts, my hands turn to sandpaper and parchment anyway.
Ah, the tribulations when the technology won't work.
Today the dishwasher doctor is coming. May the kitchen gods make her curable. (I think she just has something caught in a pipe somewhere, but neither of us knows how to find it or get it out.) It's not that I don't remember how to wash dishes by hand, but it certainly isn't one of my favorite undertakings, and once winter starts, my hands turn to sandpaper and parchment anyway.
Ah, the tribulations when the technology won't work.