The Dishwasher

I'll never understand why after having company over that even though I've set the table, made dinner, and began cleaning up after everyone, that dishwasher duty also falls under my chain of command. I mean, come on. The dishwasher? Why can't my husband just put the darn dishes in there correctly? I think he purposely puts the stuff in wrong - big plates on the top rack, glasses on the bottom (aargh) and then shoves in plates that are caked with gook that I know won't come out once we run it through the cycle, but he insists...it's a dishwasher, it'll all come out clean. Sure - in your crazy world where dishes wind up back in the cabinets by some stroke of magic and bowls that one minute were lying in the den full of cereal and curdled milk are now washed and loaded in the machine. I swear, I have become the dishwasher fairy for my family and frankly, I'm ready to hang up my rubber gloves. I know, it could be worse - I could be without a dishwasher and then me and that Palmolive lady would be best buds. But no, I'm just the clean-up captain who hates to see dirty dishes lying around so rather than have a stand-off over who is going to take care of the mess, I just roll up my sleeves, turn on the faucet, wash the stuff off and put it where it belongs. Okay, no more dishing about the dishwasher. On to more important things...like whose turn is it to fix that disgusting clog in the bathroom sink?