“We need a dishwasher,” I sighed as I reluctantly stacked the plates on the table and carried them to the counter, plopping them down with a bit more force than necessary. I knew there was no hope of getting a dishwasher; Mom had her own way of doing things. But I pleaded my case just the same. Hearing the clatter of dishes, she glanced over with a frown, then placed a bowl of leftover potatoes into the fridge. With both hands I gathered the pile of silverware the four of us had used for supper and dropped them recklessly next to the plates.
This item is available in full to subscribers.
We have recently launched a new and improved website. To continue reading, you will need to either log into your subscriber account, or purchase a new subscription.
If you are a digital subscriber with an active subscription, then you already have an account here. Just reset your password if you've not yet logged in to your account on this new site.
If you are a current print subscriber, you can set up a free website account by clicking here.
Otherwise, click here to view your options for subscribing.
Please log in to continue |