Crying Wolf

Is there a limit to times one can ask their housemate NOT to throw dishes in the sink to feed/destroy the garbage disposal? I think there is a limit and it was once, about 300 times ago.

Mr. Morgan thinks putting shit in the sink is where it goes to be cleaned, dressed and sent to the prom. Not true. There is no pink taffeta, no smiles of being a princess, none of that. What it turns out to be as a pissy wife who happens to have sink items towards the top of her no-no list. Put shit next to the sink, it'll annoy me and will be cleaned much faster than a festering water soaked bowl of something I'd rather throw out that try to scrub. This, friends and family, is why I always ask for dishes on holidays. Or you haven't noticed my coat being twice as full as when I arrived. Hey, I ate a lot. /ahem.

We've had the garbage disposal replaced twice in the last year beacause of sink deposits and my inability to find them before that switch hops into go-go-gadget-disposal! Mostly it's shot glasses. On fun occassions, the sink is so grossly loaded with shit, I can't even guess whats down there because the water is backing up. This leads me to a very hopeful outcome that nothing is down there. I also rarely cook, so where is this crap coming from? Who is feeding him on the sly?

So in cleaning yeaterday, water back up, typical slur of name calling, I hit the switch with my hand in the vicinity of a fastly swirring, blade pointing north, knife. A steak knife, with mal-intentions in a garbage disposal is like the drag queen version of a terrible blender accident.

I lifted my hand and it was screaming red, pooring down my arm and sending off shock signals to everything in my person. But it didnt hurt. I bent my thumb and I swore I saw bone. Called Mr. Morgan and admitted my fuck up of the day, sobbing.

Now, this is the point where lying would get me very far. I had told him about the sink strategy. I do not use steak knives because I'm not qualified, everyone knows that. It's being in the sink cleary... was not my doing and I was angry for having been bitten very hard by a turret of metal. I almost demanded he come home from work to sew it back on. The guilting was impressive.

I then began to wash it and my eye drew to the side of the sink and I spotted a pitcher of crystal lite. Cherry. I hadn't been cut at all and was too fucking melodramatic to think otherwise. Should I call Mr. Morgan back and admit stupidity, which I'm well accostumed to, or try to use it as a point to stop the damn sink issue.

I confessed. /damn.

- DM