My housemate rinses the dishes instead of washing them properly, despite us having two dishwashers. It’s really unhygienic and I think it’s making me sick. What should I do?
Dirty Dishes, Pyrmont NSW
Dear Dirty Dishes,
Your revolting housemate has managed to surface a distant recollection of my childhood, much like an overflowing toilet: long since repressed and something that I care not to remember. When I was much younger and we would go away on holidays, my family would take me to visit crazy Aunty Joan. She wasn’t my real aunt of course; we just called her that as all children should call an older person out of respect. She had a kind but leathery face from having spent her entire life by the ocean and a musty smell about her after being the local thrift store’s number one patron. Trips to her house were always particularly horrifying for two reasons: her room filled with creepy porcelain dolls and her concept of ‘cleanliness’.
The former was an annexe that that had been built onto her asbestos home-on-stilts and was replete with a rocking horse, her collection of toys from around the world despite never having had any children of her own; and stacks of Franklin Mint plates that were in such abundance they had exceeded kitsch and become tacky again, then full-circled right back into kitsch. It was a remarkable sight. The terrifying mini replicas of JonBenét Ramsay that littered the shelves – with their tresses of sausage-curled human hair, come-hither glass eyes, saloon-style period dresses and perfect alabaster skin – were like a miniature Aryan army from Annie Get Your Gun. The bizarre tomb was off-limits unless there were visitors and even then, you couldn’t enter without signing a waiver. Fortunately, I didn’t have my pen license at the tender age of eight and could only hope to peer through the sliding glass doors at what lay beyond its threshold.
Aunty Joan was a lovely lady albeit eccentric, however, the fact remains that she was particularly lax in housecleaning. Not only was she a collector of strange trinkets, but she had a particular affinity to her pets: an arthritic dachshund and a cantankerous Siamese cat. The animals had free reign of the house and their toys and fur was strewn throughout Aunty Joan’s abode. Our family would arrive, we would have to move a pile of cat accoutrements (no house is a home without one) out of the way before we could sit down and we would be offered a cup of tea. Joan would proceed to remove a discarded cup from the pile in the sink, rinse it under the faucet and then wipe it with a tea towel of questionable age and origin. She would then pat the cat, then pick up the dog and allow it to lick her face and mouth, would replace the animal to the floor, wipe her mouth slightly and proceed with preparing tea. I soon learnt to refuse politely, prompted by a gentle nudge from my mother when we were offered. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m an animal lover provided that they’re draped around my neck, swathing my body or adorning my feet; but where I come from, you always wash your hands after handling animals and before touching anything you are going to ingest. Besides, a quick spritz from the tap isn’t going to remove all of the germs and bacteria that have accumulated on the crockery while it has been in the sink for goodness-knows how long.
I suggest you pull your housemate aside and give them an instructional session on how to use the dishwasher and show them where the detergent is and outline how much they should use in order to reinforce the message. Purchase a sponge with a handle attached to it than can be filled with dishwashing liquid (pictured above) or leave a bottle of it above the sink. Make a point of your new acquisition and how it makes homecare fun (I’ve seen way too many late-night infomercials), then hope for the best. Purchasing a separate set of plates is excessive; however, when Aunty Joan finally kicks the bucket, maybe you can have hers from Franklin Mint. She’s about ninety-three in the shade, so it could be very soon. Make certain you invite me around for dinner; I’ve always wanted to eat off Princess Diana’s face.
Published on 21 July 2009 by Agony Uncle