We love these people. We just wish they'd pick their shit up.
Welcome to Wash Your Dishes, Bitches—a household goods brand born from the never-ending battle between Mama and the fucking mess.
Because somewhere along the way, Mama became the person who notices everything.
The dish left in the sink. The towel on the floor. The empty toilet paper roll. The laundry sitting in the dryer for three days. The cabinet someone opened and apparently forgot to close.
The thing that is literally two inches away from the trash can. And somehow, we're expected to keep asking nicely.
“Could you please clean that up?”
“Can you put that away?”
“Whose dish is this?”
“Did you seriously just walk past that?”
At some point, you either lose your mind...or you make a fucking towel about it.
So that's what we did.
WHY WE EXIST
THE MISSION
Wash Your Dishes, Bitches is for the moms, wives, partners, roommates, neat freaks, mildly unhinged homemakers, and exhausted humans who are tired of being the unpaid cleanup crew.
We make household goods that say the things you're thinking—but maybe shouldn't yell across the house.
Sometimes they're sweet.
Sometimes they're sarcastic.
Sometimes they contain entirely too many swear words.
But they're always made with love, humor, and just a little bit of rage.
Because we're not trying to create a perfect home.
We're trying to create a home where everyone who lives there actually fucking helps.
THE RULES OF THE HOUSE
1. If you make the mess, you clean the mess.
2. If you use the last one, replace the fucking thing.
3. The sink is not a storage unit.
4. The floor is not a laundry basket.
5. Mom is not the maid.
6. And yes, you absolutely can wash your own damn dish.
It's about laughing at the chaos.
It's about finding humor in the fact that you just cleaned the kitchen and someone immediately made a sandwich.
It's about drinking your coffee while staring at a pile of laundry and deciding that, actually, it can wait five fucking minutes.
It's about loving your family fiercely...
while occasionally fantasizing about checking into a hotel where nobody knows your name and nobody leaves a spoon in the sink.
So grab a towel.
Put your shit away.
And for the love of Mama—