“I can’t do this!” I snap at Greta for the fiftieth time as water sloshes all over me, and I lose my grip of the plate I am attempting to wash and send it skidding across the huge steel tub before it smashes to smithereens. Cursing myself for first scalding my own hands with hot water and then managing to crack three glasses that I dropped in the sink before I realized I should place them in carefully. I’m losing my last nerve. How is this so hard to master when it seems like a relatively straightforward task? Everything is so slippery, and this sink is like a bathtub; it’s so vast. I’m soaked all over, even through my apron, because of the way water slops up anytime I dip crockery into it.
“You’re such a quitter. Can you stop being such a drama queen and pipe down? We have a dinner party out there to impress.” Greta flicks bubbles at me as she leans in to grab a plate I have managed to stack on the rack succ
