It's not that I'm "going green"; that's actually mold in my kitchen sink.
You see, I have no dishwasher. I've been living here for almost four years and I'm finally beginning to actively rebel against having to do my own dishes.
When I moved in here, I accepted that there was no dishwasher. In fact, my lease won't allow for one. It's kind of funny, because I swore when I moved out of Mom's house (a house without a dishwasher) that every place I'd live in since then would have a dishwasher. Three years of washing my mother's cat food tins to prep them for recycling day will do that to you.
Oddly enough, I don't recycle now either. But that's another story. One that involves nickel bets on hobbled bums in dumpsters and knife fights.
So when Mr. Scoop, whose own apartment in an identical building 50 yards away has a dishwasher, suggested that I switch to paper plates - I initially balked. Paper plates brought up uneasy memories of Wonder Bread, bologna and welfare cheese...at my best friend from elementary school's house because she didn't have a dishwasher. The crushed potato chips and ranch dressing that also found their way into these sandwiches was a disturbing shadow in the background. "Hidden Valley Ranch" meant money that wasn't spent on actual vegetables. Not that I cared about Brussels sprouts when I was nine. And, frankly, the gelatinous consistency of welfare cheese could occupy me for hours. It was better than a Jell-o mold - and free (!) from the State.
But, ultimately, you start to weigh the environmental friendliness of doing the dishes by hand every day versus only poor people use paper plates versus if you don't avoid paper plates you might destroy the plant resources the children you won't ever have might possibly need versus you can sit on your ass in front of the tv that much damn sooner. You've been at work since 6:30 AM afterall and it's 7:30 PM now.
I like sitting on my ass.
Paper plates begin to seem awfully attractive.
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