Let’s Rally Around

This week I’ve been agitating dear reader. It’s not like me. Not like me at all. But I must fight to clear my good name. It hasn’t been easy. I’ve had to go to some extremes. The mud flung was very sticky indeed, but don’t worry… I have a plan.

I lost readers over it. Eggs have been thrown. Rotten vegetables have been left on my doorstep. A right proper smear campaign. And over what? Over a misunderstanding. A miscommunication. And what outrage!

What started as an apology, as part of last week’s post, flew off the rails. So now, I’m done with apologies. This time I’m taking action.

Last week I apologised for saying car ownership is a scam. It caused a stir. The moment I stepped out into the street all the world went quiet. The homeless guy stopped playing piano and everyone on the street turned to stare at me alone. I didn’t see who hurled the first insult. I was running for cover.

Little old ladies swung their handbags. The street cat hissed. I guess - apology NOT accepted. I had hoped things would settle down, but by the next day rumours had mounted that I was a dishwashing machine hater too. It wasn’t the first time I’d been called this.

Surely one must be forgiven for it. I mean, who ever heard of the Secret Dishwashing Machine Appreciation Club (the SDMAC) anyway? Will there be no end to my woes?

You must believe me. I don’t purposely go around seeking out the nerves and taking out my finger and giving them each a good touching. I confess though, I do bumble a bit. I bumble all down the street sometimes and when I look back, low and behold, a whole street full of nerves, with bloodied bitten tongues, and streaming tears, writhing from my imprinted footprints.

But I didn’t mean it. And to show I didn’t, I will always try to redeem myself. I have a foolproof plan. A plan that is certain to prove my apathy.

Let’s call her Bubbles. It was years ago. I recall meeting sweet little Bubbles working at a fairy floss stand handing out treats to children. I don’t know how we got onto the topic, but somewhere along the lines I asked her “do you like washing machines?” Before I knew it sweet little Bubbles was crying out, “you don’t like washing machines?!” calling me “some sort of dishwasher hater” and spewing forth other such vitriol so that others could hear. She chased me off and threw dirt. I thought time was supposed to heal those wounds.

I wasn’t to know. She held a deep seated secret appreciation for dishwashing machines. My name is on a list dear reader. And now my slip up has returned to haunt me. Now I run from shadow to shadow evading the spies. They have loud whistles.

In all truth, their appreciation for their dishwashing machines is admirable. Such unshakable loyalty. And if you can’t beat them, join them. So my you beaut plan is to do this - see the light. I have seen the light dear reader. I’ve seen the darkness of my ways and I’ve pledged to amend them. Therefore I am organising a pro-dishwashing machine rally. Who’s with me?

It’s possible I haven’t said enough in praise of dishwashing machines, or maybe what I said wasn’t in the right tone, but now is my chance to balance the books. My secret love for dishwashing machines has been reborn.

This rally is my chance to clean my good name - to rinse it, without crusty bits or those streaks from the last wash. All that filth shall be cleansed from me and washed into the filters so I don’t ever have to look at them again and it’s someone else’s problem. Someone must show their appreciation, even if they’re machines and don’t care either way.

No longer will I suggest how dishwashing machines are only a fad. No longer will I say how, historically speaking, real technology is built on infrastructure which doesn’t rely on fragile networks or non renewable resources or how the Romans built aqueducts that still work today, and how long would our water reticulation network keep flowing if the funding dried up for a few centuries? No one wants to hear it.

Instead dear reader, you will hear from me only about how those ‘spanner throwers’ and luddites have made up these scurrilous rumours in some vain hope of inflicting meaningful labour on us. They would have us all eating the dust off the cave floor. Perish the thought we might save a minute or two on a tedious house chore.

Dishwashing machinists unite! Think of all those hard earned bucks you’ve invested. It doesn’t matter that they break down, or need to be cleaned, or the dishes need double handling, or that we still have to hand wash some things anyway; none of that matters. The machines are here to stay, and if they come to drag my machine away they’ll have to drag me out with it. Let’s take it to the streets. Let’s fight for our right to have a dishwashing machine. Let’s fight against the tyranny that I might feel bad about using it.

Friends, hand washing is such a lowly class thing. Let’s not slip backwards. Let’s defend our dishwashing privileges. Join the fight!