A Boy Named Sous...

Mrs. TBF invited several colleagues over for dinner last Thursday night. As is often the case when we are having a dinner party, I do most of the shopping AND quite a bit of the non-glamorous work (washing, chopping, setting the table, etc.).

Mrs. TBF is the executive chef, and I'm pretty much the sous-chef...

On Friday morning, as Mrs. TBF was heading off to work, she sounded sincerely apologetic when she said that she was sorry to leave me with the enormous cleanup. We're talking fine crystal, good china, etc.; all stuff that needs to be washed by hand.

...add dishwasher to the list of sous-chef duties. Doh!

Now, I know that good china isn't supposed to go into the dishwasher, but...THERE WAS NO WAY IN HELL I WAS GOING TO BE WASHING EVERYTHING BY HAND! I mean, that would wreak havoc on my cuticles, and I HATE the smell of rubber so rubber gloves were not an option. As far as I saw it, I had no other choice...

Fine china? Meet the dishwasher!

I loaded everything into the dishwasher, closed the door, and then proceeded to spend a rather nervous washing cycle hoping against hope that the fine china's first foray in its twenty year career into non-manual washing wouldn't result in disaster.

About forty minutes later, I opened the door, peered through the cloud of steam...

And? AND?????

Perfect! I will NEVER wash the good china by hand again!

MWAH...Ha...HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!