Gather ’round, kids. I say “kids” because there are some messages/lessons adults simply don’t need, like don’t put your hand on a hot stove or it will hurt like a son of a bitch. This is such a lesson. No adult should need to be told this.
Uncle JT is going to teach you something that will make your life better until you’re racing walkers instead of big wheels. Trust me, if the Hebrews had any idea that their book would influence anybody else in the world, they would’ve nixed Leviticus and put these perfectly-obvious-to- anybody-older-than-four droplets of wisdom in there.
When you use a dish, wash the fucking dish. It turns out that leaving your dish on the counter for months at a time doesn’t make it any cleaner. In fact, your dish will begin to form an impenetrable shell. Awesome if you need to use your plate as a shield, not awesome if you ever want to eat off of it again.
Now, you may be content eating nothing but peanut butter out of the jar with your grubby little fingers because every piece of cookware in the house is now part of a towering, fetid monument to your sloth, but when you grow up, in order to make ends meet, you’ll likely have roommates. Roommates are other people who also live in the house (and who also use the cutlery), and who may or may not share your appreciation for existing in conditions reminiscent of sleeping in a landfill.
They may also want to cook things every now and again. During these times, they might get aggravated that someone has made all the dishes they recently washed dirty, and so, by no fault of their own, there are no pots or pans for them to use. I say “aggravated” in the same way George Bush made me “aggravated.” So to keep the people you live with from having to actively resist the urge to terminate your miserable existence while you sleep, you should probably wash the dishes you use. In the adult world we call this “not being a dick.” You have a long life ahead of you full of flowers and ponies. Don’t risk it because you’re too lazy to spend 30 seconds rinsing the milk out of your god damn bowl.
I bring this up because I now live with my dear, sweet friend, Cambridge. Cambridge is to roommates what Greta Christina is to, well, life: i.e. the best at everything. She and I both wash dishes when we’re done with them. I never thought such minimal competence could be shared between two people in the same house, but ‘lo, I’ve found it. Kids, sometimes when a man loves a roommate very, very much, they allow them to live at night. And you want that when you’re older, right?
Cambridge, will you roommate marry me?
(Pics of mystery pile meal #1 coming soon)