Childhood memories. A memory from growing up. Why I hate washing up the dishes
We all have our foibles
It's strange the things that can seem important to people and the eccentricities that we all have that mark us out as individuals. Some people will never walk under ladders, while others think it is dreadfully common to leave the lid up on the toilet. The spectrum of humanity is full to overflowing with people who think the rest of the human race is either mad, or plebeian, or both.
I have my little ways as well. Being an aspiring author does not mean that I am immune from the little foibles that distinguish the rest of my species, except for the Paris Hiltons of this world.
Sisters can be a right pain
My little "Achilles heel" is that I have an aversion to washing up. I think it comes from my upbringing in Ireland, when I was but a novice in the great struggle of sibling relationships. My mother, God bless her, always insisted that the children had to help with the chores. I came from a family of older sisters, and if you know anything of the psychology of the dreaded young female, you will know that I always had to do the drying, and the putting away. The result of this was that I was always finished last and the "cruel ones" could be resuming their play while I was struggling with the last of the cups.
Anyway the result of that "childhood trauma" is that as an adult I have always hated washing up. I will not touch a plate or a spoon until everything has been used. But before you yell that I must have a filthy kitchen, listen to this. I will only have three of each item in my house. That is three plates, three cups, three knives, three forks etc. That way I can fulfil the great primal desire to put off until the last possible moment the dreaded washing up, while not being denied access to my kitchen by a mountain of dirty dishes. It usually happens in the morning. The fact that I am half asleep means that I cope better with what I perceive as the big chore. Anyone that has it in their mind to dine with this particular aspirant towards The Nobel Prize, had better bring their own plates, and bring them home again after.
My childhood was really very happy
In reality my childhood was a very happy time, full of long days of playing with a multiplicity of cousins and friends. There were very funny uncles and eccentric aunts and we used to go on picnics to the seaside on the long sunny days. So even if I have been left with a phobia about washing up, I have very little to complain about.
If anything it has given me an appreciation that we are all human, and that one persons "terrible memory" can be another's "fond recollection".
Now I must go and make myself a coffee, when I can steel myself to wash a cup.
The truth is in here
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