let’s talk washing up shall we

any note that starts with “let’s” i kind of immediately love. this one was forwarded by lindsay in watford, england:

15 responses to “let’s talk washing up shall we

  1. I like the name “Miss Mop” the best.

  2. The word ‘crockery’ is superb, i think.
    i also think i will use ‘washing up liquid’ instead of dish soap from now on.

    This page is great, by the way. One of my favorites. i don’t know why i haven’t commented before now.

    ~christine

  3. I guess “washer upper” is British for “dishwasher”. I’m so jealous of their language.

  4. Guess I know where my former roomate moved to!

    Love the site! Thanks for the laughs, and for locating all of those I roomed with in under-grad!!!

  5. You know, I never received written instructions on the washing-up process, so I appreciate this and will keep this procedure in my wallet.

    I would also tag this post under “things you swosh.”

  6. I dearly love all the exclamation marks. !!!!!!!!

  7. everythingzen

    Ha.

    Love the blogs. I so wish I would have kept my old roommates horrid house rules.

    Good times. SARCASM DRIPS.

  8. This one is top shelf. The brits really have the edge when it comes to use of the language. So casual, so breezy and unruffled…yet concise.

  9. Bowl = sink?

  10. She means one of those plastic tubs you put in the sink to wash dishes in. I have lived in Britain way too long, someone remind me whether they use those in the states or not?

  11. God, I hate washing up nazis. Just ignore the mess! People who go on tirades about washing up have nothing better to do.

  12. My mom gives me a more hostile “talk” about cleaning up my room.

  13. What a beautiful guide on how to do your dishes, I’m going to use it for my students who not all know how to wash up after cooking a meal…

  14. I think the need to list what she had to wash up took away from the point. Poor Miss Mop. So sad…

  15. Yes, I love all the toffy language– cutlery! Crockery! Washer-upper!

    I’m imagining a chintz-filled room, with slender, languid university flatmates, all smoking skinny fags, with dog-eared copies of E.M. Forster strewn about the room– “Whot a wankuh! ‘Miss Mop’. REALLY.”

    I feel like such a barbarian.

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