Frustration

In March, we had our dishwasher installed.
Almost five years of hand-washing every pot,
Every glass, every plate, every spoon,
That boxy device released me from slavery.

Half a year later, the dishwasher quit.
We know it’s under warranty.
But I didn’t file the receipt.

In the chaos of moving, we have piles of papers
And mounds of detritus to wade through
In search of that one scrap of paper.

I’m all for organization.
But I’d prefer it to be on my own time,
Not with the kitchen monster of mess
Crouching, dragging me ever further behind.

I’ve found dozens of other receipts.
Why should that one vital one go missing?

I realize this is a first world problem.