In the midst of this Great Debate on the fine points of protecting
hands from heat, grime and “black thumb” while polishing, an
important side issue has arisen which I hope will not be ignored.
Therefore I am sub-titling this effort in an old-fashioned way -
“How to Succeed With the Ladies.”
It is about washing dishes by hand.
About washing dishes by hand and the benefits that activity confers
upon a person. True enough, your hands may look so good and clean
that at the next formal dinner party you attend nobody would ever
guess you perform manual labour. But, the benefits go far beyond
just getting your hands clean.
Here’s what I know about that.
In the town where I lived many years ago there was a fisherman named
Franky (whose last name I shall neglect to provide.) He was not
particularly “tall, dark, and handsome” nor in any way resembling a
movie idol. Quite the opposite (although he was dark, but then so
were all the other fishermen.)
He was the most ordinary squat-bodied fellow with somewhat randomly
placed teeth. He had a bit of a pot belly. A little balding too, if I
recall. He worked on a dragger and made an average fisherman’s
living, which for the benefit of regular folks, translates as an
income which is unpredictably sporadic and averages out to somewhere
below the poverty line in a good year - but at least you always have
fish to eat.
Despite these disadvantages there was one thing which distinguished
him from all the common herd and it was that he had uncommon good
luck with the women of the village. None of the other fishermen, no
matter how young, handsome, dashing, or reckless with their pay
packets could claim the number of conquests which Franky routinely
chalked up to his credit. The women fairly swarmed around him on his
nights ashore. Everyone wanted to know Franky’s secret. He never
told.
But one of the women (who knew) explained it to me one night. “When
out fishing,” she said, “Franky always volunteers for the one job on
the boat that even the toughest deckhand avoids. He always
volunteers to wash the dishes. It’s his hands, you see. All the other
guys have hands with the texture of barnacle-encrusted oyster shells.
Franky’s hands are always soft”
So there you go - a bonus - the inside story. Don’t wear gloves. Let
your hands get grimy and scorched at work. But then a devoted daily
soak in cold, greasy dishwater (those guys ate a lot of fried food)
and even a little soap, and you’re as good as new - even better.
And as for the folks who promote never-failing perfect attention as
the one and only solution to safety - well I say good luck to them
if they believe that about themselves. Perfect attention? Never-
failing? I guess they’re the same ones who, when an accident does
happen, are always dead certain that it must be someone else’s
fault, unless they’re just plain dead. Everyone’s attention fails
sometimes, maybe for just a fraction of a second. But how much time
does an accident take at 1725 RPM?
Marty in Victoria BC where the electric dishwasher threatens to take
the romance out of life.