Dishes, Dishes, And More Dishes

What could I write or post using the word “dish”? I thought and thought…. and then I remembered a story I’d written years ago and forgotten about until now.

Denise was at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes {as usual} and singing {as usual}. Her voice, as she sang, was sweet; her thoughts were bitter. Once again, her sisters had stuck her with the dishes, just because she was the youngest. Dishes, dishes, and more dishes! Sometimes she felt as though she spent half her life at the kitchen sink. The worst part was that Daphne and Debbie always smiled and said, cheerfully, “Here are some more dishes for you, Denise.”

“Like they were doing me a big favor,” Denise thought. “Like those extra dishes are a present.”

She had just scrubbed the last pot when Daphne came in with another stack of plates.

“We forgot these,” she said.

And that’s when Denise decided that, youngest or not, she wasn’t going to be stuck washing all the dishes any more. Finally, that night, Denise spoke up. She put down the steel wool, put her hands on her hips and demanded, “How come I always have to wash all the dishes? Why can’t you and Debbie wash some of them once in awhile?”

“But Debbie and I don’t like washing dishes.”

“Neither do I, and I don’t see why I should always have to do them just because I’m the youngest.”

Debbie, who had come into the kitchen, said, “That’s not why we always leave all the dishes for you.”

“Then why do you?” Denise asked, puzzled.

“Look,” Daphne said, “Debbie and I will do our share of the dishes from now on. But we honestly thought you liked doing them.”

“Where did you get that idea?” Denise asked.

“Well,” Debbie explained, “you always sing when you wash them.”

Denise looked at her sisters for a long moment before answering, “That’s because I like to sing.”

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