I can't think of many things I hate more than washing dishes.
I hate it so much that I usually wait til there is nothing left to eat from - before resorting to doing dishes. At this point I should tell you that I don't have a dishwasher. Not since four apartments ago.
The one person who shares my hatred for the task of dishwashing is my friend Kimberly. We love and hate most of the same things. That's a true friend!
We both love older buildings, so we both end up in tiny little apartments with no dishwasher.
A couple years ago I made the rare journey out to visit her in San Francisco. Her apartment was so cute... with a tiny little kitchen so small you could almost work all the appliances from one standing position - just turn yourself around! Her kitchen was decorated so cute, with deep red paint on the walls - matching dishes arranged just so on the open shelving. And a small pile of dishes in the sink. As she gave me a little tour of her apartment she apologized for the mess in the sink and mentioned what a hard time she was having getting around to doing the dishes.
When she excused herself to go take a shower, I decided to fill the sink with water and clear up the dishes. Somehow, the work you hate the most is not only less dreadful, but bearable when you do it for someone you love.
When she returned to the kitchen, I tried to hide my smug expression as she surveyed her empty sink.
"Did you wash my dishes? You are not allowed to wash my dishes. No." she said sternly, as if scolding a dog with a favorite sandal in it's mouth.
Then she hugged me warmly as she said, "Thank you. That is the nicest thing you could have done for me. Just don't do it again."