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  • Annmarie Throckmorton, M.A.


A Dishwasher Named LøVĪĒ

by Annmarie Throckmorton, M.A. 2022

LøVĪĒ: "No one knows my name, which makes me a little bit angry. Maybe I am too sensitive but it makes me sad that no one ever cared enough to look at my nameplate, which is bolted to the underside of my nice, big, square, 175-pound unit, located under and toward the back. My nameplate reads, SN:13LøVĪĒ1971. It's the LøVĪĒ in the middle of my serial number that matters the most, it is the true essence of who I am. LøVĪĒ is my name, loving is my game."

Wife: "Oh Ouch! This damn machine! I stubbed my toe again on that hard, square corner that sticks out. My toe still hurts from the last time that I stubbed it there. And as usual my fancy heirloom platter doesn't fit in easily. I always worry about breaking it. Everything is a struggle with this damn dishwasher. It's just an ugly, ugly pea green machine." Is it too much to ask for a nice, new, chrome-finish dishwasher?"

LøVĪĒ: "Take that wench! I'm glad you stubbed your toe and maybe I'll break your platter too. I am not 'pea green', I am a proud avocado-colored kitchen appliance, and what is more this kitchen should be painted a beautiful bold harvest gold to set me off properly, not this lifeless 21st century cream-dream paint that reflects off of every nick and scratch on me.


LøVĪĒ: "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Now I feel guilty about my temper, my bulk, and my age. Am I too angry, too fat, too old? Should I be replaced? I certainly hope not. I try so very hard to do a good job, to really clean this family's dishes as good as if I were brand-new again. I want this family to feel loved by the wonderful work that I do for them. I wish I could move my blankety-blank corner out of their way but it won't budge. The best I can do to express my love for this family is to do a really great job cleaning dishes to make up for all the troubles. I'll run the Sensor Cycle this time. It automatically selects the right wash and dry settings for the big load that the family has today; I'll be checking the temperature, soil level, and load size, then using only the exact amount of water, detergent, and energy needed. I hope they'll be pleased. I would love for them to be pleased."

Little Brother: "I want to go play right now but Mother told me to carry my dishes into the kitchen first and to put them in that old monster dishwasher. There was a crust of something dried on my spoon tonight so this old monster dishwasher isn't doing a very good job. Oops, I dropped my cup into the bottom of the dishwasher and I can't get it out without those wire racks pinching my fingers. Oh damn, I forgot to bring my silverware. Oh well, Sister will bring those in with her own dishes. I'm off to play."

LøVĪĒ: "They curse, they all curse at me, even the young ones. That's crude. And it's so unfair to me. I try so hard. I am old and frankly, I'm a little battered by their careless ways. Oh, what will become of me? It is hard to be loving with all this worrying."

Big Sister: "As usual Little Brother left half of his task for me to clean up. Hum, there's a crust of something dried on his spoon and also on his fork. Yuck! Repulsive, smelly old dishwasher, it does not work well. We need a new one." Big Sister cursed and gave LøVĪĒ a sharp kick on its side next to the dent in the spot where other family members also had kicked. Then she limped off unhappily because her ill-tempered kick had hurt her foot.

LøVĪĒ: "Oh, they really do not love me, no matter how perfectly I run all of their dirty dishes though my system of precise timers, effective sanitizers, and vigorous jets of water. I work very hard, but my old sensors cannot spot every little crust of this, that, or the other; and I get only curses and a kick in the side in return for my best efforts."

Husband: "Too expensive, that's what a new dishwasher would be. This damn old thing is hideous but it still works well enough. I would rather pay off some debt with the money. And it's no secret that I'm color-blind so what difference is it to me if this battered old dishwasher is green? I know that Wife really wants a bright, new, shiny chrome-finish dishwasher; but then she wants all new chrome fixtures in the kitchen, granite countertops, new tiling all matchy-matchy on the floor, ceiling, and backsplashes; and we won't have finances for all of that anytime soon. I love my family and it is my job to make sure that we don't overspend.


Husband: "Still...maybe a kitchen redo in a totally chrome theme would make them happy. I'll talk it over with Wife later, when we have a little more money coming in."

LøVĪĒ: "I have a stay, a reprieve, respite from being scrapped—for the moment. But I can see the handwriting on the cream-colored wall. I'm doomed to be replaced by a lovely new, dent-free, scratchless chrome model, a slim dishwasher that probably weighs less than a hundred pounds and is mounted on wheels for convenience, with energy usage so efficient that the utility company will pay rebates to run it."


LøVĪĒ: "I have considered carefully and I think perhaps that old saw of catching more flies with honey than vinegar is wrong. (And who wants flies anyway?) Maybe LøVĪĒ isn't my name after all, I may have misread it, after all it is dark underneath my unit. My nameplate is smudged, dusty, and a little bit rusty. Checking my nameplate now, in the bright light of how uncaringly this family feels toward me, I can see that my nameplate actually reads, LøVĒĻĒSS. And I shall act accordingly. Game on."

The End

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