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Ah, Monday. That overachieving little troublemaker of the week. Always showing up with the promise of order and productivity… only to trip you in your fuzzy slippers before your second cup of French roast.

This morning started off like any other: me, my coffee, and the hum of the dishwasher offering its usual white noise as I prepped for the day. I tossed in a sponge and our well-worn plastic pan scrubber without a second thought—because clearly, I live on the edge.

Fast forward about 30 minutes. I strolled back into the kitchen, ready to serve breakfast to my four-legged freeloaders, and what do I find? Not peace. Not calm. No ma’am—bubbles. Bubbles creeping out the sides of the dishwasher like a scene from a low-budget soap opera (pun very much intended).

Jear Desus.

I opened the door, and it was like I’d summoned Mount Sudsyuvius. An avalanche of foamy fluff came spilling out, and Shelby, my Basset hound and resident drama queen, took one look and fled the scene like she was dodging a felony.

The lightbulb moment came soon after: I must’ve unknowingly committed the cardinal sin of dishwashing—introducing actual dish soap into the mix. Likely lingering on the sponge or scrubber from handwashing dishes over the weekend. And let me tell you, it doesn’t take much. Just a smidge of that stuff in a dishwasher and you’ve got yourself a live-action bubble bath.

So there I was, armed with towels, muttering words not fit for Sunday school, sopping up my soap-based crime scene before it took over the entire kitchen.

After work, the plan is Operation De-Suds: a couple rinse cycles with vinegar and baking soda to evict the remaining fluff monsters and hopefully avoid murdering my dishwasher in the process.

So here’s to Monday—and all the unplanned, unpredictable, ridiculously bubbly mayhem it drags in with it.

May your week be productive.

May your coffee be strong.

And may your dishwasher mind its damn business.

XOXO, Jani

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