The draw of the shiny new washer
I knew I might have some explaining to do if I got caught, but
it would be worth it since I would be trading up. I wasn’t really
cheating. Besides, it wasn’t like the washer and dryer could hear
me. They were safely tucked away in the laundry room upstairs as I
perused the sales fliers that came in the mail. I usually throw
them out, sight unseen, but lately, I can’t seem to resist their
magnetic pull.
The draw of the shiny new washer
I knew I might have some explaining to do if I got caught, but it would be worth it since I would be trading up. I wasn’t really cheating. Besides, it wasn’t like the washer and dryer could hear me. They were safely tucked away in the laundry room upstairs as I perused the sales fliers that came in the mail. I usually throw them out, sight unseen, but lately, I can’t seem to resist their magnetic pull.
For months, I have been having a secret love-affair with the shiny new appliances from the local appliance stores. When the Lowe’s flier came, I sat in a corner of the living room, with the centerfold; a fully loaded front loading washer with its dryer twin. Complete with pedestal drawers. I nearly swooned.
Pristine white, or I could mix it up and go a little more 21st century and have navy blue or fire engine red laundry appliances. I wasn’t sure I was ready for such a leap. I mean, I am loyal to a degree. I might even consider paying homage to our nearly 14-year-old domestic devices.
As the washer made the now familiar thumping noise in its spin cycle in a vain attempt at regurgitating The Husband’s work clothes, I wondered how I could convince The Husband that washer and dryer years are a lot like dog years. Yes, our appliances were really 91 years old. We couldn’t have such antiquated things that are supposed to clean our clothes, could we? How could he argue with that?
I’ve been smart, though. I’ve been playing it close to the vest. The Husband is none the wiser that I am poring over the junk mail like a Publisher’s Clearing House Winner who may have just won $2 million. I am waiting for just the right time – when he has done something he knows I won’t like, or maybe during income tax season. Whichever comes first.
When I think about being able to haul away the old ones to make room for the new ones, I imagine how happy I will be. So happy, I may not do laundry for the first two weeks because I won’t want to mess them up by actually washing clothes in them. I will just stare at them, admonish The Kids not to go near them, polish them, and stare at them some more.
On the other hand, I’ll remember the time The Boy came home with ring worm from day care and we had to wash everything we owned. Or the time when The Girl drank what looked to be three gallons of Hawaiian Punch earlier in the day and then we had to wash and flame-throw everything in her room at 2 a.m.
When The Husband came back from his many military training missions, I’d grab all of his clothes and gear and stuff them into the waiting mouth of the washing machine, knowing that what went in was ugly and dirty, but what would come out, would just be ugly. Good times, good times.
The banging from upstairs becomes more insistent as it nears the end of the cycle. I know it’s a warning. My only hope is that it goes into the Great Washer Beyond so it’ll never have to see its younger, sleeker and hopefully less noisy replacement.
