Return of "the bad-times bowl"

I didn't have the easiest time growing up. Nothing serious. But I seemed to get in trouble for EVERYTHING! Saying "good morning" unenthusiastically. Finishing my meat before touching anything else on my plate. Handing my parents things with my left hand... It was out of control! But nothing caused me as much trouble as dishes. I hated dishes! Not only did they not wash themselves, they broke easily. They hung out on tables after meals. And, although I can't prove this, I'm pretty sure one snuck into my parent's bedroom and did things to my father at night. Anyway dishes caused me nothing but trouble. But I graduated, left home, moved countries. Forgotten! But then one day I go into my sister's office and she brings out a piece of that wretched crockery to offer me cherries. She admitted she got it from my folks' house.

Never had the taste of cherries seemed so bitter on my tongue. And never had I been so determined to wash a bowl and put it back in its rightful place.