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“The dishwasher’s broken,” Ladybug said, winding down after a dual patrol with her husband, Chat Noir. The kids, twelve-year-old Louis and three-year-old Emma, had been put to bed a couple of hours ago by Marinette’s parents, who gave the couple a rare night out together.
And now Marinette, still in her suit and dealing with the adrenaline rush of racing across the city with Adrien, couldn’t close the dishwasher.
“Again?” Chat said, frowning. His grass-green eyes glowed in the dimly-lit kitchen. Ladybug wondered if his night vision was casting a greenish glow over everything, and envied him for being able to see in the dark.
The dishwasher had frequently broken in the years that they’d owned it. A glass chipped and got into the chopper a year ago, completely busting it. Adrien had ordered a part online and managed to take the dishwasher completely apart and put it back together again as good as new.
Plastic items had also fallen onto the heating element and melted. Adrien fixed that, too.
And recently, over the past two weeks, the plastic bit that held the sprayer in place snapped. Adrien could jury-rig it into working, but since the centrifugal force of the sprayer jerked it out of place, Adrien had needed to fix the sprayer every single time they’d run a load.
Marinette, on the other hand, couldn’t figure out how to do that, even after he’d shown her how a few times. She didn’t have his magic fingers, the right touch.
Eventually, he’d grown frustrated. “I should not be the only one who knows how to fix the dishwasher,” he’d said, wrinkling his nose. Marinette had apologized and promised that she would learn how.
Adrien’s frustration started the day before. Now, the door wouldn’t close properly.
“Yeah,” Ladybug said, trying to shove the door into place. “It’s not closing at all.”
Chat sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Let me see.”
Ladybug stepped back and let him work his magic.
Or try to. Like her, he shoved the door into place and failed. He whistled, presumably at how badly it refused to shut. “It’s completely off kilter. As if someone had stood on one side of it.”
“Emma?” Ladybug said, sighing. “I don’t think Louis would have, he’s twelve, but she’s three, so…”
Marinette looked over at the piles of dishes swamping the counter. There were the pots and pans she’d needed to handwash anyway. There was the casserole dish from their garlic butter chicken last night. There was a whole bunch of silverware.
And almost every plate, bowl, and cup was dirty. Since the kids had been home for the summer, Marinette, who worked from home, was constantly feeding them. Emma ate voraciously. Her constant refrain in Marinette’s ear while she was designing was, “I’m huuuungry!”
Which meant that between breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Marinette used every single dish, every single day.
She sighed again. Dishes were her chore, and she really didn’t want to do them by hand. Ladybug needed perspective. So she thought for a moment about how lucky she was, murmuring, “First world problems.”
Chat, still trying to jam the door into place, stopped and blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
Ladybug leaned on the dish-covered counter and folded her arms. “The machine that sanitizes the dishes I use to eat the healthy food I can afford while living in the house that I own, is broken. That is the definition of a first world problem.” Her lips quirked. “Still annoying, but I have literally nothing to complain about.”
“Replacing things like this always makes me feel grateful for what I have,” Chat said, counting the blessings off on his clawed fingers. “We have our health. We have good food and a nice place to live, in a safe neighborhood. The kids have good schools. We can afford to replace things that break. And we have family and friends around us that love us.” Adrien took her hand. “And I have you, my Lady.”
Marinette kissed his cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart. I’m glad you get it. Do you think you can fix the door?”
“I can try.”
As Chat brought out his tools and crouched to get a better look at the bent hinges, Ladybug made tea for both of them. Chat liked both green tea and hot cinnamon spice, so Ladybug washed two separate cups. She preferred the latter, so she only washed one cup for herself.
She heard a thump. Chat hissed. Ladybug, after placing the tea bags into the cups and prepping the pot of water, turned to him.
“You okay, dear heart?” she said, raising a brow.
Pulling himself out of the dishwasher, Chat gave her a rueful look. “I hit my head on the counter.”
She smiled. “Silly Kitty.”
Chat harrumphed.
Listening to Chat’s frustrated grunts, Ladybug finished preparing the tea. She allowed the green to steep for two minutes and the hot cinnamon spice to steep for five. She added sugar to each of the cups containing black tea, as well as splashes of milk.
“Tea’s on the counter,” she informed Chat, who mumbled his thanks.
She took her cup and the bills they had yet to pay from the mail basket and brought them to the dining room table. Ladybug located a pen and her stamps and sat down to take care of business.
Chat made a lot of G noises when he fixed things. He grunted and groaned, grumbled and groused, griped and grouched.
Listening to Chat’s aggravated sounds, she opened the bill from the pediatrician. I am so glad we only need to do well-baby checks once a year, Marinette thought, sighing.
Emma hadn’t been sick in many, many months, and had just passed her well-baby exam with flying colors. She’d had to get vaccines, but she was a trooper, and hardly cried at all.
Chat growled dangerously low behind Ladybug. She was just about to check on him when she heard an exasperated, “Cataclysm!”
She stood so fast she knocked over her chair. “Adrien!” she cried, whirling around to find him staring, dumbfounded, at the ashy mess. “What the heck! How could you Cataclysm a dishwasher?”
“I… I just…” Chat said, covering his mouth with his hands. “Sorry, Bug. I just got so frustrated that I, uh… did that. That is a thing that has happened. Do we have a broom?”
“You ridiculous cat,” Ladybug said, resting three fingers on her forehead, just above her nose. She set the chair to rights. “Of course we have a broom, but I can just use my Lucky Charm, remember?”
“Oh!” Chat said, brightening. He looked so happy that her heart burst. “What if your Lucky Charm fixes the dishwasher entirely?”
“I doubt it will,” Ladybug said, tapping her chin. “But I can try.” She unhooked her yo-yo from around her waist and threw the black-spotted weapon into the air. “Lucky Charm!”
The ladybugs swirled above her in her kitchen. A small, long object with bristles on the end dropped into her hands, and she squinted at it, disgruntled.
“Very funny, Tikki,” Ladybug deadpanned, holding up the scrub brush for Chat’s inspection. “Very, very funny.”
He snorted, covering his mouth again, but this time to hold back giggles rather than hiding his shame. The laughter had a bit of an edge to it, but he cackled so hard that Ladybug soon joined in.
After a bit of guffawing with him, she held a finger to her lips. “Sssh, we’re going to wake the kids.”
Chat stood from his position on the floor next to the dishwasher and brushed off his knees. “Throw the Charm, my Lady.”
Ladybug hurled the scrub brush into the air. “Miraculous Ladybug!”
Her millions of tiny helpers swirled around them, leaving a non-Cataclysmed dishwasher in place of the cinders. Chat tried to close the door. The dishwasher had returned to its original broken state.
He sighed. “Guess we need a new one.”
Ladybug gently squeezed his nose and shook his head back and forth. “Remind me to never let you fix things while transformed.”
Chat pulled his head out of her grip. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?” He tried giving her the kitten-eyes, but after thirteen years of marriage, she was immune.
“Tikki, spots off,” Ladybug said in response. A flash of red light flowed over her body. Marinette stretched her hands out and caught the little, red kwami, who smiled up at her.
“Hi, Marinette,” Tikki said, yawning. “I think I need a nap.”
“Hi, Tikki,” Marinette said, smiling down at her friend. “Let me feed you, and then you can go to bed.”
It was Chat’s turn. “Plagg, claws in.”
The transformation light washed over him. Plagg rolled on the air, laughing his little head off. “You did it, Kid! I was wondering when you’d finally abuse your powers for something stupid!” Plagg stopped to wipe his eye with a flipper. “I’m so proud.”
Adrien groaned as Marientte and Tikki giggled. “Plagg,” Adrien whined. “I should have known you’d find this funny.”
“Whatever,” Plagg said, and flew over to Marinette’s hands to embrace his Sugarcube.
Marinette glanced at the counters, which were overflowing with dishes. “Okay,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “Adrien, you feed the kwamis, and I’ll tackle these dishes.”
Adrien gave her a thumbs up, and both mini-gods floated over to him. “Will do, Bug. I’ll also order us a dishwasher.”
Marinette trudged upstairs to their bedroom to retrieve her bluetooth headphones. Adrien had bought them for her a while back for a random appreciate-my-wife gift, and she used them every day for chores.
She placed the headphones on her ears and connected them to her phone, turning on a playlist with thumping bass and squealing guitar riffs.
She paused at the top of the stairs. Going downstairs meant facing the dishes. Marinette didn’t want to tackle them, like she’d said she would. They’ll take an hour. And I have to do this every night until we get a new dishwasher.
Marinette straightened her shoulders. “The sooner I face them,” she said aloud, giving herself a pep talk and rolling up her metaphorical sleeves, “the sooner I can get them done.”
She strode downstairs and faced Dish Mountain. Singing along to a Jagged Stone song, she filled the sink with soap water and got to work. Surprisingly, the dishes only took twenty-five minutes to clean, once she buckled down and did it. Marinette was pleased.
She wiped down the counters and the sink, and went to find Adrien. He was sitting downstairs at his desktop computer, browning websites for major stores. The kwamis appeared to have gone to bed.
Marinette removed her headphones. “How’s it going?”
“Home Depot has dishwashers,” Adrien said, frowning, “but they don’t get here until August 11th.”
“What?” Marinette said, coming around to his side to look at the screen. Sure enough, the black dishwasher he was looking at was clearly labeled ‘Arrives: August 11th.’ “That’s three weeks away! Why are dishwashers so popular?”
“I have no idea,” Adrien said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Carrefour has some, too.” He switched browser tabs over to the warehouse club’s page. “But these don’t get here until August 28th and most of them are out of stock.”
“So a month,” Marinette said, her heart sinking. How could she hand wash dishes for a month? First world problems, she thought, sighing.
Then she had an idea. She quickly whipped her phone out of her pocket and looked up paper plates on Amazon. Oof, paper plates are expensive, and I hate the waste aspect, Marinette thought. But here’s some compostable ones. They’re not cheap, but…
With a few thumb presses, she’d ordered the plates. “I just ordered some compostable paper plates on Amazon. They’ll be here in two days.” She showed him the order on her screen.
Adrien blinked at her. “Uh. Okay, but they’re a lot cheaper at the regular supermarket. I’d pay half that much at Lidl, and I could have picked them up tonight.”
Marinette pursed her lips. “But you went to both Carrefour and Lidl for the week already, yesterday. I didn’t want you to go back to the store again for any reason this week.”
Adrien shrugged. “I don’t mind a supermarket trip if it means you have less work.”
Marinette kissed his forehead. “That’s because you’re sweet.”
“What’s done is done, and the plates will be here in two days,” Adrien said, shaking his head. He placed his hand on his computer mouse and clicked back to the Carrefour website. “Shall we pick out a dishwasher?”
“Let’s,” Marinette said, replacing her phone in her pocket and leaning against the wall. “How much is the one you want?”
“Well,” Adrien said, clearing his throat. “With a two hundred euro install, twenty-five euro haul away, and a seven hundred and nineteen euro dishwasher--plus tax--that adds up to over a thousand euros.”
Marinette blanched. “This sucks. I'm glad we can afford this, but it's a thousand euro convenience. I hope it'll pay for itself.”
"Depends on what you mean by paying for itself,” Adrien said, rubbing his nose. “If it lasts three years and we do a load every day, then it'll be a euro a load.”
“It’s still a thousand euro teaching moment for Emma.”
“We’ll have to talk to her,” Adrien said, sighing again. “Do you want to do it or should I?”
“I’ll do it,” Marinette said, folding her arms. “I hate replacing things.”
Adrien gave her a sly grin. “We don’t have to replace it. You can always do the dishes.”
Marinette bit her lip. “Spend a thousand euros on me, honey.”
Adrien laughed. “That’s what I thought.”