I think I hate you.
I get it. It's not nice of me to be so blatantly against you. It's really not your fault that we have the relationship we do right now.
It's just that it doesn't seem to matter what I do - how many times I run the dishwasher, how many pans my mom washes for me while she is here, or how many times I eat on a napkin to avoid adding a plate to the mess. The piles just keep getting higher.
Lincoln's dried-up, rejected cottage cheese is grossing me out.
The wet and sometimes smelly dish towels that have mopped up milk, cheerio dust, and baby spit are disgusting.
Mold-filled dinosaur bath toys - I know I put you behind the faucet, but I don't have time to fix you right now.
Empty paper towel holder - seriously, you're empty again?
I guess it's actually okay. Because if I ever found the sink and counter, I would definitely need to clean them. And that's something I can live without doing for awhile longer!