Most of you obviously never tire of hearing about the ins and outs of my crazy-sexy-cool middle-aged dude suburban lifestyle. Which is why, of course, I always feel so terribly compelled to provide some sort of recap to our weekend adventures come Monday. I mean, sure, I’m not really convinced it’s all that thrilling, but you gotta give the people what they want, right?
Well, instead of the usual cloak and dagger game of cat and mouse with an attractive yet severe woman with loose morals, a taste for dangerous men, and a sugar daddy with a convoluted-world-domination-for-profit scheme, the Puddinette put her foot down this weekend. There would be no international espionage until we got a few things done around the house.
So, as I posted to Twitter yesterday, Productive Sunday was productive.
I’ll spare you the underwhelming details. You know, unless you really want to know more about my mulching habits. And no, that’s not euphemism. Also, I got…a haircut!
Yeah, so, the pinnacle* of the weekend turned out to be buying a new washer and dryer. And there was much rejoicing…
Well, ok, maybe not so much rejoicing. Still, sometimes, even though the thought of dropping a bomb load of cash on a new set of appliances rankles more than the knowledge that Paris Hilton has worked fewer total hours in her life than I worked last week, you just have to bite the bullet and pay up. Because, well, while doing laundry sucks, not being able to do laundry sucks way worse.
Yes, I realize I’m violating the Man Rule that requires any human with an XY set of chromosomes to enact a carefree attitude about having clean clothes. Trust me, when I was a bachelor, I lived up to my end of that particular bargain. Then again, I only ever had worry about whether or not I was dressed properly, and quite frankly, if I left the house with pants on I was ahead of the game for the day. As long as I couldn’t smell my clothing and nothing looked recently slept-in, we were good.
But now? These days I have to approach laundry with a somewhat more thoughtful nature. It turns out that a family of six is not just two adults and four children living through a series of short-term comedic situations in a never-ending, never-repeated series of fuzzy sweaters or butterfly collar shirts. No, in real life, a family of six is actually a Dirty Laundry Production Company, and if the clothes are piling up, someone’s profit margin is shrinking (I haven’t figured out exactly how that laundry-profit model works out just yet, but I believe the detergent companies have something to do with it).
With a family of this size, if your laundry equipment doesn’t cut the mustard, it won’t be long until little Johnny is asking why he has to wear the ducky pajamas that haven’t fit in two years and have to be shoe-horned on. This exercise is typically even more complicated when you factor in that the average child’s post-bath “drying off” practices typically guarantee that squeezing those PJs on will be like stuffing a honey-covered football into a gym sock.
The bottom line is that no, buying a new set of laundry appliances is neither fun nor sexy. They’re difficult to research, and for the money, you could be buying something that comes with an electric cord, a bunch of HDMI ports, and a screen that displays video in colors so vivid you’ll feel like Rainbow Brite puked on you, in a good way.
But unfortunately, when you’ve got enough kids, someone’s eventually going to actually puke on you. In those cases, it’d be nice to know you can get your shirt washed and dried before any permanent damage is done…or an odor moves in.
So, is it fun to spend a wad of money that could have been recreational on new household appliances? No, but it is rewarding when little Johnny’s pajamas don’t make him look like the poppin’ fresh Dough Boy.
And really, I wouldn’t want to wear the ducky pjs either.
*No, I don’t know why I have to use words like “pinnacle” instead of “high point” like a normal person. It’s my blog and I’ll be off-putting if I want to.