Sometimes, all it takes is a threat (of beheading).
Yesterday, for the umpteenth time, I found something horrible – something that made me want to…well, I’m not really sure what. I found… (wait for it…) my *special* pots in the dishwasher. The pots that had been a gift from my parents and Grams, the pots that are the best ones we’ve ever owned, and the pots that said specifically DO NOT put them in the dishwasher (or else forfeit the guarantee). And yet, there they sat. In the dishwasher.
“Um, hubs. Why are my pots in the dishwasher?”
“To clean them.”
“Okay, well…I know we’ve had this conversation several other times, and I’m really not interested in having it again. So, just imagine the worst possible thing I could threaten you with, and consider me threatening you with that. This was MY gift. You don’t have to use my pots and pans (we have other, less great ones), but IF you do, you need to take care of them by my standards – regardless whether you agree.”
“This is my last warning, yo. Next time, I’ll do something mean. I’ll…I’ll…paint pink flowers and hearts and the word “Angel” on your new motor scooter!!!”
“Please don’t! I understand! It won’t happen again! I promise!”
“Darn straight, buster.”