Dear Santa,

I have now returned back to earth from heaven, and have landed square in the Land of Dirty Dishes. I could segregate my dirties from my cleans, as most normal Americans do, but alas, my dishwasher and my husband are conspiring against me.

As I turn to my stack of so-called Clean Glasses, usually when I have guests over, and begin to pour them a nice refreshing glass of water, I notice flecks of yucky stuck to the inside of the glass. Upon further inspection, I see that many of my other glasses are similarly afflicted. My heart begins to race, smoke streams from my ears, as I think, "Who didn't rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher?! Moreover, who put unclean dishes away?!" I go through the mental list of everything I do, how much work I have anyway, how unreasonable it is that I should have to wash these dishes twice, for God's sake. This is unhealthy.

Rather than fume about the situation, I choose to research a solution. I call the dishwasher repairman, who tells me that my filter was dirty, and that will be $150, thank you very much. The dishes are cleaner, now, but not for long. Soon the dishwasher leaves them bespeckled once again. I beg Steve for a new dishwasher, but he claims he can clean the filter. And he does. The dishes wash cleaner... for about a day. He cleans the filter again, and notices that the water isn't draining. I get on my knees and plead with him for a new dishwasher. Nope. He will figure out the drainage issue. Eventually. And maybe clean the filter every 3rd day. In the meantime, I remain dubious about how clean our dishes really are.

Santa, if you have a heart for a poor mommy, please bring me a new dishwasher this Christmas. Please have your elves install it while I sleep. I don't need a bow or any wrapping paper. I don't need new clothes or pretty shiny things under the tree. I just want clean dishes. Oh, and you might want to double-check the plate your cookies were left on and the glass your milk was served in. I'm just saying.