Dirty dishes

Friday nights were date nights. Not for me or any one of my eight brothers and sisters, but for mom and dad.
Once Drew turned twelve, for us, Friday nights included macaroni and cheese from or box or sometimes homemade pizza with hamburger meat and cheddar cheese, and Nick at Nite in mom and dad's room. Basically it was a free-for-all. The boys were in charge, but with a Nintendo 64 in the house and no parental supervision, a brawl would always take place at about 7 p.m.over who cheated at Mario Kart.
We all had chores we were assigned to do, with the promise of a treat when mom and dad arrived back home. Being the oldest girl, I always was in charge of putting the dishes in the dishwasher. I loathed this chore. It was impossible to complete before everyone was in bed, because dirty dishes were always accumulating. Often, I left the stacks of orange stained bowls and plates for too long and would fall asleep without completing my chore. Meant I got a stern shake at 10 p.m. , and the sharp voice of my mother saying, "Destry, you didn't do the dishes", which to my preteen ears was as bad as a nightmare coming true.