My mother tried. She really did. But somewhere along the line, I seem to have missed out on several "wifely" training classes. Or maybe that was her point. I can certainly be a wife, but I will be oh so much more than a Stepford Wife (as previously mentioned).
I like to cook and bake, but when left to my own devices, will readily enjoy a snack of the last of the questionable cheddar cheese, some raspberries and goldfish crackers (you know the little Pepperidge Farms delights I mean). On evaluating one such snack a while ago, WG said, "I've seen you eat worse."
Most of all, I have a very modern, un-wifely trust for convenient appliances. Namely, the dishwasher.
The dishwasher is my friend. When visiting WG in the early days, I was crushed to learn that he had no dishwasher in his old, 1920's home. How could he not? I have not lived in a house without a dishwasher since the earliest days of my childhood when I didn't care anyway.
Most of all, I assume the dishwasher can wash ANYTHING. I am always quite upset to discover those four bowls that didn't quite get clean enough, yet I continue my blind faith that the dishwasher will make my wildest dreams come true.
Way back in May, the dishwasher, uhm, jammed. Apparently, I do not believe in pre-rinsing my dishes, and so there was an...accumulation of...leftovers in the dishwasher.
I realized that it needed to be cleaned, or as WG said, "You seriously need to rinse your dishes before you put them in here."
"What's the point of a dishwasher if I have to wash my dishes first?"
"You won't break your dishwasher."
So, ever the helpful boyfriend, he attempted to clean out the jam by putting Ivory Liquid Dishsoap (NOT dishwasher soap) into the dishwasher. Shockingly (she said with as much sarcasm as possible), that did not work. I had quite the bubbly mess on my floor. I thought I had entered a sitcom. Isn't that like the most over-done sitcom plot? Wait, no that's a washing machines.
With towels all over the kitchen floor, my parents came over, my dad handed over his wratchet set (as WG had decided that now the food trap needed to be removed and emptied), and WG fixed the dishwasher (I could write for days on what it meant that he, and not my dad, fixed my favorite appliance).
And what have I learned?
I've learned to rinse my dishes (not because anyone told me to - only because I get so annoyed when my bowls are still coated with goop after a good, long banging about in the dishwasher).
...and that's about it.
I've still got tremendous faith in my dishwasher. This morning, I turned on my little buddy, leaving muffin pans, measuring cups and measuring spoons in its safe care.
Though I may need a brush-up on my housework skills, no one can tell me I lack faith.