In one bat of Fatale coated eyelashes, my world goes from something as gorgeous as this:
to this ordinary but unmistakeably grotesque horror.
And it is all hand-wash only, naturally.
Dr. Sanger, my long-ago teacher can take heart, I think I have the hang of it now:
If we make a lovely meal and set the table with good stuff, then we will wash dishes forever.
If we wash dishes forever, then we will have to dry them as we wash, and then Amy cannot go home because she needs to dry dishes forever.
If we hire someone to do all this, then we will be very put out by their presence and be under the gun because they need to leave at a certain time, after all, it is a holiday.
If we go out to dinner, then we will not feel it was a real holiday.
If we get take out, then we really will not feel it is a holiday.
If we use paper plates, then I will be carried out on a stretcher hyperventilating with daggers in my eyes promising to be back and straighten things out drill sergeant-style.
If I have to come back and straighten things out, then that holiday will be talked about in infamy forever.
Easter dinner, in our home, is a lesser meal than the blessed brunch. However, having both on this past Sunday left us with those two huge piles of dishes twice in one day. Which was enough to set me down here before you to ask: How do you get the holiday meal dishes finished?