For more than five years I lived in a tiny studio apartment without a dishwasher. Every evening I’d wash the day’s dirty dishes by hand and then cram them into an overcrowded drying rack, occasionally breaking a wine glass in the process. As the skin on my hands gradually wrinkled from the water, I’d stare at the seemingly never-ending mound of dishes in my sink and dream of the day I would never have to hand-wash them again. I wanted nothing more than a dishwasher.
That day finally came when I rented another apartment. It came with a handful of features new to me — a community pool, hardwood floors — although it was the much-longed-for dishwasher that I was most thrilled about. But things didn’t go quite as planned.