It's like a train wreck or a car accident, right? The carnage is devastating, but you cannot look away.
My grandmother gave me these, her precious Tupperware measuring cups (from nineteen-ought-six) almost 10 years ago. She was moving out of her home as it had gotten to be too much for her. She was nearly 90 at that point. I promptly chucked my Wal-Mart cheapies and got to baking with these lovely Harvest Gold babies.
I've been washing them in the dishwasher for years and never thought anything about it. The day before yesterday, I noticed a funky-burning-plastic smell coming from my dishwasher. Being the trusting individual that I am, I ignored it. When I unloaded the dishwasher yesterday, I found that this little guy had somehow fallen off of the top rack and ended up down near the heating element.
Mystery of the Funky-Burning-Plastic Smell Solved!
Ugh. I have some guilt because these were a hand-me-down from my Grandma. I can hear her now, tsk-tsking because I didn't take better care of them. Or maybe she's looking down on me, saying, "Shannon, they are older than you. Don't worry about it." Either way, no more dishwasher for this little guy. He can still work for me, although I don't think he'll stack as nicely as he used to!