I’m not quite sure what psychological phenomenon happened to me when I was young, but I hate drying dishes.
When I was younger and would have to wash the dishes at home, I think I hardly ever dried the dishes at all. In fact, I think I could probably count on my fingers the amount of times I dried the dishes. And I think I could even carry that over to putting the dishes away. How did that happen?
When I recollect my various times of doing the dishes, I remember someone would always clear the dish rack for me while I ran the water. It was not because I was unable to, but I always remember wither my mum or my dad telling me that they would clear the dish rack for me while I started. I can hardly remember a time when I actually had to put the dishes away.
Another factor that played into my strange dish-washing psychology is the fact that we have a huge dish-rack at our house. Large, and with three levels, one hardly had reason to run out of space for dishes and, if planned well, one could cram a piles of dishes into the space that was there. Besides, on rack, the dishes simply dried themselves, by no effort my own.
And so, somehow, from these various elements that made up my dish washing history, I spawned an aversion to drying dishes. I really don’t mind to wash them – in fact I find it a relaxing, almost therapeutic exercise – just don’t ask me to dry them.