I was chatting to our friends at the weekend about the bungalow we are moving to and mentioned that we would need to buy a dishwasher as we are leaving our old one behind.
One of our friends was horrified - "But there's only two of you! You don't need a dishwasher!"
I suppose it does seem like an extravagance to some, however, I have been fortunate to have had the use of a dishwasher since P and I first moved in together, back in the early 1980s and do not enjoy washing up by hand on the odd occasion that we are on holiday in self catering accommodation.
It may stem from my childhood perhaps. My mother was not exactly keen on domesticity and so, from a very early age, my sister and I were made to do the washing up every day for our family of five (as well as taking the family washing to the launderette and doing the ironing). I really hated it. One evening we rebelled. Mum and Dad had gone out to visit friends and my sister and I went up to bed without having done the washing up. When Mum came home and saw all the dirty dishes, she scooped them all into the plastic washing up bowl, opened the back door and flung the whole lot out into the garden, shouting and swearing all the time. My little brother was terrified and crept downstairs to try to retrieve everything and bring it back indoors but Mum sent him back to bed with a flea in his ear. We didn't rebel again after that episode.
I still hate washing up to this day.