Six months postpartum, drowning in baby laundry, and our washing machine dies. I tell my husband, Billy, we need a new one ASAP. His response? “Not this month. I’m paying for my mom’s vacation. You can wash everything by hand. People used to do that for centuries, and NOBODY died of it!” Excuse me?!
For two and a half weeks, I scrubbed clothes until my fingers bled, all while taking care of a newborn and running the house. I barely slept, barely ate, and my back ached from bending over the sink for hours. But I said nothing. I waited.
By week three, I’d had enough, so I decided to teach him a lesson.
And it worked perfectly! Because one day, Billy stormed through the front door from work, and he was all red-faced and furious as he shouted, “WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?!”
I looked up from the couch, rocking our baby. “What do you mean?”
He pointed wildly toward the backyard. “Why is all my stuff outside?!”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, you mean your clothes? Well, Billy, since we don’t have a washing machine, I had to find a place to dry them properly. So I spread them out on the lawn. The sun dries them faster that way! People used to do that for centuries, and NOBODY died of it!”
His face twitched. “You—You put my work shirts on the grass?!”
I nodded. “Of course! The dirt is just part of nature. A little dust never killed anyone.”
“My boss saw them on his way home! He called me and asked if I was moving!”
I gasped. “Oh no! That must have been so embarrassing. But, you know, people used to be embarrassed for centuries, and NOBODY died of it!”
Billy was fuming. “This is ridiculous! My clothes are ruined!”
I shrugged. “Oh well, guess we’ll just have to wash them again. By hand. Since we don’t have a washing machine. Unless…” I paused dramatically. “You’d like to buy one now?”
He glared at me. “You’re impossible.”
“No, Billy,” I said, standing up and handing him our baby, “I’m exhausted. I’ve been doing everything alone while you send money to your mother for her vacation. Meanwhile, I’m here, scrubbing spit-up stains out of onesies like it’s the 1800s.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll buy the washing machine.”
And just like that, the next day, we had a brand-new washer.
I loaded it up with the dirtiest, smelliest clothes first. As I poured in the detergent, I turned to Billy and smiled. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He muttered something under his breath and walked away. But I didn’t care. Because, for the first time in weeks, my hands weren’t bleeding. And that was a victory.
Now tell me, if you were in my shoes, would you have done the same?
