If Loving You Is Wrong...

You know you're a homemaker when this makes your knees buckle and your breath come quickly.

My friend, who shall remained unnamed, just got a new LG washing machine and dryer. She and I are kind of in love with it. It is enormous, and it sings and it has steam and allergiene (whatever that is) and it is fast and quiet and I'm going to start doodling its name on my notebook!

I'll never forget (cue soft music and focus) the first time I laid eyes on this ingenious machine, this homage to domestic bliss, this glorious wonder. I walked into her laundry room as she stood proudly by, smile plastered to her beautiful face. We caressed the machine. We touched all the buttons. We listened to its quiet hum.

She began inviting me over for regular washing dates. Now, I have a washer and a dryer, and they work and they get the job done, and they are right in my very own house. Imagine the convenience. But hers, well, hers are worth a drive across town. I've done three sets of sheets, at the SAME TIME. I've done a huge comforter. I've come to her home with armloads of gross and left with sanitized mountains of clean.

Stepping back into the reality of my own life, my own less than beautiful but utilitarian machines, I am shocked, really, by my envy. When one gets excited about a washing machine, what on earth does that say about one's life?

I'll say it again, if loving that machine is wrong, I don't want to be right.