I was baking this afternoon, having a hell of a time with a recipe that was supposed to make cake batter and made wallpaper paste instead. I got it going eventually, and while batches of mini cupcakes were baking a dozen at a time, I busied myself cleaning up as I went. The whole exercise was so laborious that with only half the batter used, I simply up and quit, throwing the rest out. Then I sat down to rest for 90 minutes.
Just now I went back to the kitchen to continue cleaning up, and I was faced with a sinkful of dirty pans and utensils idling in cold dishwater. God, there is nothing I hate more than putting my hands into cold, greasy dishwater. Yuck.
Something I have long known about myself is that I can deal with just about any icky thing as long as I don't have to touch it with my bare hands. I can handle animal by-products, science experiments found in the back of the refrigerator -- in short, any of the gloppy messy stuff that one comes across in the ordinary course of one's existence.
My partner keeps a pair of Playtex dishwashing-type gloves in the under-sink cabinet. So why didn't I just put them on?
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