Today's Moral Dillemma is replaced by Petty World #3
I felt it coming on when I thought I had found the washing machine of my dreams. Seems like a small feat, the "washing machine of my dreams". It was in an appliance store and was a mere $499. With an IRS refund in hand, we had the money. We needed it--ours broke a week ago. I called my husband at work gave him the model number to look up while I waited.
Long story short, he put on the brakes. He said let's read the reviews. I was immediately ticked. How many times had he pushed me and pushed me relentlessly over something he wanted until I was a heap of twitching jerking nerves? I wanted this washing machine.
I knew we would not read the reviews. I knew another day would go by in our search for a washing machine. It's been broken almost a week now. I came home to my husband and son watching TV. They'd already eaten. They thought I knew they were going out for dinner while I was at a rehearsal. I made myself something to eat and asked if he'd thought anymore about the washing machine?
He told me we needed to "read the reviews". I asked him when we were going to do that. He told me we could when we went to bed. At about 10:00 our usual go-to-sleep time of the evening I took my laptop and went to bed. My husband followed his evening ritual and joined me while I perused e-bay and facebook. Soon he was looking and breathing over my shoulder at what I was doing.
"I suppose we better start looking at reviews." I said.
"That would be the prudent thing to do." He said.
"Oh, it would, wouldn't it." I said with heavy sarcasm. The word prudent stuck in my craw. He'd bought a 47" TV for himself and football season, just seven short months ago and nary a review was read. He looked at three TVs and made his choice.
I copy pasted the model number I'd given him over the phone to the search window and a washing machine came up but it wasn't the one I'd looked at. I felt a funny kind of sickening rage tickling my brain. This one was the same brand, but was definitely not the same washer. I reentered the model number and tried to remember what I'd said:
"V like Victor, C like Carl, M like Mary, 400--"
I couldn't remember if it was XCM or VXC or what. For a moment I was convinced the store had mislabeled the machine, then I was even more convinced he'd gotten the number wrong. Then I felt sick. I could not get my dream washer.
My dream washer was no more my dream washer than the next one, (I don't have a dream washer) it was the principle of the thing. I wanted a washing machine and I wanted a new one. We'd had wonderful luck buying used ones. Our last purchase, a simple Kenmore that was barely used in a vacation home by a widow. Perfect. $150. Lasted barely a few years. While a GE we spent $50 dollars on lasted more than 10 years. That stung a little. I'm the one that washes the sheets, towels and kitchen linens. I want a new washing machine. I want the one I pick, not the one that looks best from the groupings of classified ads.
I wanted something new FOR ONCE.
I could feel myself driftng in and out of the unthinkable rage that often overcomes me on the inside. The one that makes me want to throw up, and in the end makes my hair hurt. It was a slippery slope and so much easier to just go with it. It was getting more and more difficult to differentiate between reality and the idea that some higher being or power was plotting against me.
I closed the laptop and told my husband I'd lost my desire to spend $500 dollars on a new machine. I was calling "our guy" in the morning. The one that repairs things. The one that always helps me decide whether we should put another "penny" into it--whatever "it" happened to be at the moment, or we should just junk it. God bless him.
No comments:
Post a Comment