Or at least, though they claim to make my life easier, they really make it harder.

Observe.

I produce only seven dirty dishes a day - namely, one mug (morning coffee), three plates (breakfast, lunch, and dinner), three glasses (daily allotment of two Diet Cokes before being forced by guilt to segue to tap water), and 56 spoons (for eating Häagen-Dazs out of the container).

I could wash my dishes in 10 minutes, but I don't, because I have a beautiful dishwasher, now only one year old. I load it up every night and forget about the dirty dishes, only to unload them the next morning.

Even dirtier.

This goes on for a month. I'm convinced it's my imagination, but my glasses and dishes keep looking worse than when I put them in. I rack my brain but can't figure it out, so I go through the good-girl checklist. Dishes rinsed off first? Check. Placed in rack properly? Check. Living a good and honest life? Check.

Yet my dishes remain filthy. I give up and call the appliance guy. He examines the dishwasher, then asks, "Do you use a drying agent?"

"A what?" Evidently not.

He points to a mysterious hole in the dishwasher door. "That's what this is for. You put the drying agent in here. It will prevent the buildup from the water."

Now they tell me. "Why didn't I know about drying agents?"

"It's in the owner's manual. Did you read it?"

"Does it have a car chase?"

He doesn't answer.

"Then, no."

He adds, "You can buy a drying agent in any grocery store, and you should also pick up a dishwasher cleaning agent."

I try to follow. "My dishwasher needs to be cleaned?"

"Sure."

"But isn't it supposed to wash things?"

"Yes."

"So why doesn't it just wash itself?"

He gathers my question is rhetorical, which it isn't, and I walk him to the door, cranky. I have to buy dishwashing powder, a drying agent, and a dishwasher washing agent - all to clean seven dishes? What does the dishwasher do to earn its keep? If you ask me, somebody's slacking and its name rhymes with Kitchen Aid.

My clothes dryer isn't pulling its weight, either. For the last year, I have to put it through two cycles to dry anything, and if you think I use only a few dishes, I won't even tell you how often I wash my sheets. Generally, I wait for the dogs to complain.

Anyway, I call the appliance guy and he says the clothes dryer is fine, but I need to clean the outtake hose because of the buildup.

Buildup again! "What buildup? There's no water there."

"No, but there's humid air."

"Air can build up?" I ask him, incredulous.

"Or lint. Check the owner's manual, you'll see."

Now I hate the owner's manual more than I hate the buildup.

And don't get me started on lighting timers.

In a fit of temporary insanity, I had timers installed on the lights at my front door, back door, and garage. The electrician stuck these very tasteful white things into my light switches, and they'd be great if they worked, but they don't. Their second day on the job, they joined the appliance conspiracy, so I can never guess what time they'll go on or off. Now, the front lights go on at 3 o'clock in the afternoon and go off at nightfall, like accomplices to all burglars in the tri-state area.

Plus, the garage light goes on at 2 in the morning, just in time to wake me and four dogs, so we can all bark for the next hour, when we fall into an exhausted sleep.

I would turn the lights on and off manually, but the fancy timer switches won't let me do that. They're the control freaks of the electrical world.

I can't even claw them out of the switchplate, nor do they respond to profanity and other forms of verbal abuse.

Now the only thing building up is my blood pressure.