all I want for christmas is...

Aaaah. A few weeks ago, I found my soul mate, who understands my needs, can fulfill my deepest desires and bring some semblance of order to my chaotic life. I just have to convince My Man that it would be good for the harmony of the entire house, even though it’s pricey. Wanna peek? Meet the Duet Whirlpool Front Loader Washing Machine.



Duet… Even the name is awesome. We’d make the perfect couple. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can see it now, I would throw scads of dirties in while Duet eagerly devours them. “What? Is this all you have?” it mocks me. “More, more! Didn’t you hear I can wash 16 pairs of jeans in one load and 22 towels in another?” The mountain of dirty laundry would be gone in no time. The kids wouldn’t say, “Mom! Where are my socks?” Well, yes they would. I hate sorting socks and unless the second half of the duet is a sock-sorter, that would still be a problem in this house.

I know – I am asking for an appliance for Christmas. I am so coveting this domestic device. With 9 people in the house, I am continually doing laundry. It piles up, becomes a living nightmare, and is multiplying faster than I can clean it. I tried to make the kids do their own clothes, really I did, but that didn’t work either. So I do them. I hunt down dirty clothes from all rooms and levels of house. And it is best for anyone to stay away from me while I do this chore. You can frequently hear me ranting and yelling things like, “Why is this still FOLDED? You know how much I HATE washing clean clothes!” I rewash the clean clothes since they have recently been bed-fellows with stinky socks or used undies. I then sort, rant, sort some more, mutter, transfer wet things to dryer, scoop out weird things from bottom of washer and put them in weird-thing collector bucket. I shove a load of dirties in washer. I wash cooties off my hands under the hot water. I clean the dryer lint trap, contemplate that matter is not created nor destroyed and merely changes form and is now stuck on my damp fingers. And so it goes.

I also equally detest washing towels that were only used once. Towels are used on clean bodies, therefore the towels should still be clean for several uses. You know, dry off and hang up. Not around here. It is shower/bathe, run through hall dripping wet, throw towel on floor, get new clothes on (or re-use dirty ones – especially if they are striped and you are Mr. W), stroll all over towel. Furthermore, towels don’t like to be washed, as I have witnessed on several occasions. During the spin cycle they try desperately to get out and if I don’t catch them in their revolt soon enough, they start walking the washer into the hallway while making some of the most awful noises.

Then we have the folding process. Only I can really do this, as only I seem to remember who wears what. My Man? He guesses. I love it when he throws Miss J’s clothes in my pile – makes me feel soooo gooooood to believe he thinks I am still wearing junior clothing. Trust me, I don’t tell him he is wrong and will let him continue to make that mistake.

But the sorting process can be overwhelming. I see one of my children wear a pair of pants and make a mental note that they are too small. I hopefully remember to snag them as I fold the laundry. Then I decide whether I am sick of seeing the pants on 4 boys and do I want boy number 5 to wear them? If so, put them on the bed for the box for Mr. M. Then I search for summer clothes (although is this wise as it was almost 70 degrees again this week?). I definitely snatch up all the striped Mr. W shirts I can find. Put them on the bed for the out of season box; toss any that he has completely ruined by making the front an impromptu napkin. Grab a shirt that I hate from Miss J’s wardrobe. Secretly hide it so I can put it in Goodwill. Put the rest of the clean clothes in the 7 baskets surrounding me. Throw the socks in large basket to deal with later. Fold mine and Mr. M’s and leave them on the bed since someone is yelling for me.

I come back at night to find my bed still has folded laundry on it (oops) and My Man is putting everything carefully on the floor. I really should put them away but instead, I choose to go to bed. The next day, the kids run through the piles and get them everywhere. My Man walks on them. Everything gets mixed up; Miss J finds and wears the top I was getting rid of. The pants somehow make it into Mr. J’s drawer to be worn the following Sunday (I make another mental note). Mr. W gleefully snatches all the striped shirts while he is retrieving some socks; he laughs evilly since he is totally aware of my plot. I look around in dismay at the other clothes which now have My Man’s foot prints on them. I wash them. And the whole cycle begins again. Sigh.

Can’t you see how the Duet can help me or have I been blinded by love? My Man is ‘this close’ to thinking it is a good idea, and is very malleable especially if he has no clean jeans. But before I commit myself to this cool and very expensive washer, if you have any reasons why this duet should not be purchased speak now or forever hold your peace. And then come help me with my laundry.