The other woman is a washing machine

I have a problem. My husband is in love with our new washing machine.

“It’s so quiet,” he says, rubbing the top gently.

For weeks, he had shopped to find the best deal on this new paragon of clothing cleanliness. He found her one glorious Saturday afternoon, but still, he didn’t rush it. He visited her frequently, to make sure the fit was right. And one day, a big truck appeared in front of our house. Big, strong men carried her in, while my husband watched, a wide grin on his face.

I think he loves the new washing machine better than me.

But I can’t say I blame him. In fact, this state-of-the-art front loader has loads of attributes that I don’t. For example:

1. She sings a song when she’s done with each cycle.
2. All you need to do is gently lean against her sensitive digital power button to turn her on.
3. She doesn’t curse while she’s working.

I can’t compete with that.

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