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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

For those of you who may be wondering, Ol’ Robbo has been around this week but his Muse seems to have taken a late summah hols.  Hopefully, she’ll be back soon.

Of course, everybody is watching Hurricane Dorian.  They didn’t evacuate Middle Gel’s school down in the Tidewater this time around like they did for Florence last year, but classes are cancelled today.  Looks like they’ll get a goodish bit of rain and maybe some wind, but I’m not at all worried and am, in fact, happier that she’s just hunkering down instead of having to get on the highway and come home.  Up here in NoVA, I believe we’re on the very far outer edge of the affected area, but I guess we’ll get nothing more out of it than some cloud cover.

And speaking of soaking, I may or may not have mentioned here before that the Port Swiller Manor dishwasher is on the verge of giving up the appliance ghost.  (It must be close to twenty years old, as it was just about the first item we had to replace after we moved in here.)  Apart from the fact that several of the bars in the lower dish rack have rusted out, thereby necessitating limited and intelligent loading, the thing has simply lost a lot of its cleaning power.  One has to pre-treat the dishes so thoroughly before putting them in that it’s almost not worth bothering to load it at all.

I’ve explained this pre-treatment requirement to my nearest and dearest many, many times.

So imagine Ol’ Robbo’s state of mind when he opened up the dishwasher last evening only to discover a whole day’s worth of plates and bowls thoroughly caked over with the remains of the meals which they had held.  (Hint:  Think Dr. David Banner after reporter Mr. McGee has finally pushed him over the line.)  I’m generally a pretty laid-back, calm sort of fellah, but this was real green eyes and muscles-ripping-shirt-to-shreds time.

And yet, was my outburst of righteous anger met with humble acknowledgements of fault and contrition, along with hasty efforts to make amends?  Of course not.  Ol’ Dad is just a big meany, the brute.  And somehow or other I wound up unloading the dishes, hand-washing them, and reloading the thing myself.

You can’t win, sometimes.  You really can’t.

 

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