Wash Me A River

A man does many important things in his life. He gets a job, raises a family, has mid-life crisis, and eventually leaves an inheritance of old socks and broken tools. There are, though, a few things that a man is forced to do that were never put in his job description. One of those things is appliance shopping.

This past week, I had the pleasure of coming home to a new swimming pool in my laundry room, courtesy of a leaky washer. My wife was already there in her office clothes, trying to dry the floor and wring out towels. Being a guy, my mind immediately went into “fix-it” mode and I went to gather my tools.

Well, as I determining exactly how to solve this water fountain issue (and which neat new tool I would have to buy to do so), my wife was determining exactly how long it would take me to actually solve this water fountain issue. Things being what they are, she came to the conclusion that it could be years before we were able to wash clothes in the house again. Hence, it was put to me that, if I did not replace said appliance immediately, I could move outside and stink with the dogs.

To say that I looked forward to this would be a total lie; I dreaded it. Let’s face it, guys know one setting on the washing machine that works, and we use that setting no matter what type of clothes we wash. If something gets mis-colored, we just use it in the shop.

Anywho, I was forced into the vehicle and dragged into the nearest appliance store. Once there, I was forced to listen to thousands of explanations about cycles, speeds, features, and buttons. I was doomed to hear how I had been tearing up my clothes by using the wrong agitator, and that I had wasted enough water to fill Caddo Lake 10 times over.

After being blasted as a ecological swine and a wardrobe destroyer, I was also informed that I had been wasting electricity by using the same time-setting. And due to all of this waste, I had forced my old washer into an untimely death.

At this point I began to believe the sales person might be slightly over-dramatic. I don’t recall anyone every going to prison for washer-cide.

After 63 hours of this torture, my wife finally asked me which (of the 73 that she had picked out) one I liked. I had assumed that at some point there would have to be a decision made, but I was hoping that it wouldn’t include me. I was wrong again.

Now, I could lie and say I made that decision based on features. I could say that it was the 13 speed transmission with overdrive that influenced me. I could even tell you that it was the ergonomic design and ecological saving that swayed me toward a specific piece.

But the truth is, I did what every other guy would do: I went with the one with the biggest motor. Ask any guy at the Auto Parts store and he will confirm that you can never go wrong with a bigger motor.

In truth, I have since learned to actually use some of those fancy features. I have learned that there is more than one size load, and that not everything needs to be washed as fast as possible. My wife is also very happy with her new washer. Heck I even heard her bragging to her friends about how those extra speeds really get the dirt out of her unmentionables, while still keeping them soft and supple.

I am just hoping that she doesn’t notice that the old dryer no longer matches now.