I loaded up his dishwasher… it isn’t mine, you see,
But every Friday morning piles of dishes wait for me.
The night before sees lads at play, and men who like to dine
The dishes are all theirs, of course, the haute cuisine was mine.
I never had a dishwasher, I never had the space…
I just had hordes of teenage gannets mulling round the place.
No matter what I cooked or baked, it went at lightning speed,
I never really knew how many mouths I’d have to feed.
Right from the start their friends would come and knock upon the door,
It started with just one or two, but soon came many more.
They’d smile up, looking hopeful, saying, “Missus, have you baked?”
I’d let them in and feed them, then they’d run off duly caked.
But then they grew, instead of looking up they now looked down,
I’d feed them when they rolled in after nights out on the town.
I’d feed them when ‘she’ broke their hearts, and feed them and their mates…
And washed so many dishes that I’m worth my weight in plates.
But now my oven’s silent, just the dog and me at home,
While they have both grown up and now have kitchens of their own.
But every Thursday morning I still cook a special meal,
And they’ll load up their dishwasher, or leastways that’s the deal.
So every Friday early, long before my son appears,
I’m clearing up his kitchen and the evidence of beers.
It looks like Christmas dinner with the carnage they create
But this time I have luxury…and dishwashers are great.
I never had a dishwasher and now there’s no excuse
It really is unjustified with just one plate in use.
The dog, of course, has volunteered, she’d happily step in…
She’ll even clear the fridge and any food bound for the bin.
I guess, if after years of being wedded to the sink,
If piles of plates and dishes haven’t driven me to drink,
And sanity survived, almost, the menfolk’s appetite
… I could just leave my cup and teaspoon unwashed overnight…