My Husband Refused to Buy a Washing Machine and Said, ‘Just Wash Everything by Hand’—All Because He Promised His Mom
Six months postpartum, buried in baby laundry, and exhausted, I thought my husband, Zed, would help when the washing machine broke. Instead, he shrugged. “Just wash everything by hand—people did it for centuries.”
I stared at him. Babies go through more clothes in a day than a football team. His mom “babysits” once a month by napping on my couch. And he prioritized her vacation over my sanity.
Fine. I washed everything by hand. My arms ached, my fingers were chapped, my back screamed, and Zed never lifted a finger.
The next morning, I packed his lunch—but instead of food, I filled it with rocks and a note:
“Go hunt your meal, make fire with stones, and fry it.”
He stormed home, fuming. I let him stew. For once, he was uncomfortable.
The next evening, I heard a box being dragged through the door. A brand-new washing machine. Zed didn’t complain. He set it up quietly and finally said:
“I get it now.”
And that was enough.
