Ten Past Two by Jack Lane Bridges. (WA)
Above: Outside of a Cat Introduction: Jack & James' Collab Channel on Youtube
Jack Lane Bridges is a critically acclaimed Author from Western Australia whose writing ranges from Romance to Science Fiction and Fantasy. Jack's been a long time favourite at Swan Con, Perth's premier Science Fiction and Fantasy Convention!
Jack Says: "The Dishwashing Story is perhaps best described as domestic horror. Ordinary people in a range of ordinary and unpleasant circumstances (like being stuck in a time loop while washing the dishes). The dishwashing story was written when that feeling was a constant in my life. Kids = endless dishwashing!"
It felt like she never got on top of the dishes.
It was the same routine over and over. Run the water, add detergent, fill sink with dishes, wash each one.
Claudine scrubbed at the dried-on fried egg with the scourer, worrying away at the bits until they finally came free, then slopped soapy water over the plate and stacked it on the dish-drainer. The radio played a song she hated, yet again, but she couldn’t change the station, not with wet hands. Damn kids must have put it on one of those stations that recycled its playlist hourly.
There was cutlery at the bottom of the sink, there always was. She picked up each knife in turn and washed it; the one with intertwined roses on the handle, the good quality one with the rectangular handle that was the last remaining survivor of the set they’d received as a wedding present, the one with the chunk out of the tip from where she’d prised a jar of jam open.
And the last one, always, was the wooden-handled steak knife that Mike insisted on using, regardless of what they were eating.
She stuck the knives into the cutlery drainer, let the water out of the sink and gazed out of the window at the over-grown backyard while the water drained away. The washing machine chugged in the laundry and she glanced across to the dining room to check the time. Ten past two. If she was lucky, she’d get the dishes done before the kids came home from school, noise and dirt and homework reluctance trailing behind them.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to ease the ache in her legs. It felt like she’d been standing there forever.
Once the sink was refilled, she started in on the saucepans, the greasy one from where the kids had cooked instant noodles, the tarnished one from where she’d boiled eggs for that day’s school lunches. Caked-on mashed potato, something suspiciously grey that she couldn’t identify.
The washing machine shuddered and shook, grinding through its programme and Claudine stacked the saucepans on top of the plates on the drainer and curled and uncurled her toes, trying to ease the ache in her calves.
She put more plates in, dinner plates and side plates, worked her way through them. There was cutlery down the bottom, so she fished it out, began to wash each fork, each knife. Dried-on fried egg, the knife with the chip out of the tip, the one remnant of a cutlery set they’d received as a wedding present, the wooden-handled steak knife that Mike insisted on using. She’d do the saucepans next, God knows there was enough of them.
The washing machine chugged, and she glanced at the clock. Ten past two, the kids would be home from school soon. Hopefully she’d get through this lot of dishes before they made any more dirty.
END
Thanks to Jack for "sending this in". We appreciate this work. Domestic Horror is indeed the best way to describe the endless cycle of dirty dishes! - James
