“Mom Needs the Washing Machine More” — My Husband Announced, and He Was Already Taking Mine Away. Except He Didn’t Get Very Far…
“True virtue requires sacrifice,” my husband declared solemnly, throwing his full weight against the sturdy metal cart.
“That’s why the washing machine is moving to Mom’s,” he added much more quietly, giving the load another push.
I just stood beside the front door, trying to decide whether I was actually seeing what I thought I was seeing.
My lawful husband, Oleg, who could carry even a single grocery bag home as if he were returning from a three-week expedition, had suddenly transformed into a hero of physical labor.
And sitting proudly on the cart was my washing machine.
The washing machine I had bought entirely with my own money, long before I had even married Oleg.
My previous machine had a habit of going sightseeing during the spin cycle. It would wander from one corner of the bathroom to another, shaking so violently that you would think it took the task of washing clothes as a personal insult.
So when I finally bought a new, high-quality machine, I took care of it like it was the apple of my eye.
And now, wrapped in thick plastic, it was preparing to leave my apartment.
“If I may ask… where exactly is my washing machine going?” I asked.
Oleg wiped his sweaty forehead and looked at me like a generous ruler who had just decided to donate an entire kingdom.
“Mom needs it more.”
“Really?”
“Hers is old. During the spin cycle, it sounds like there are rocks inside. We’ll buy another one for ourselves.”
The word **“we”** is particularly interesting in marriage.
When my husband says, “We’ll buy one,” it usually means: he decides, I pay.
“Does Tamara Ilyinichna have some rule against calling a repairman?” I asked calmly.
“Mom says there’s no point spending money on an old machine. We have an almost-new one here with a large capacity.”
Oleg proudly patted the plastic covering.
“I already turned off the water, disconnected the hoses, and ordered a truck. A real man makes decisions quickly.”
I smiled.
“All right.”
A triumphant smile appeared on Oleg’s face.
Obviously, he had expected me to start crying, screaming, or at least cling to the washing machine with both hands.
Instead, I simply went back inside the apartment.
And started packing.
I took out our biggest wheeled suitcase.
I put Oleg’s shirts inside.
His jeans.
His spare underwear.
His favorite sweater.
Then I carefully squeezed in his fishing equipment as well.
Finally, I grabbed the full laundry basket, which contained nothing but his dirty clothes.
I tucked his orthopedic pillow under my arm.
When I came back, the truck still hadn’t arrived.
But our neighbor, Gennady Petrovich, was sitting outside the building.
He was retired, but he had spent decades repairing household appliances. And apparently, he particularly enjoyed scenes like this.
I put the suitcase down next to the washing machine.
Placed the laundry basket on top.
And carefully laid the pillow over everything.
Oleg stared at me in disbelief.
“What is this?”
“Accessories.”
“What kind of accessories?”
“Well, the family package that comes with the washing machine.”
Our neighbor’s mustache twitched.
“You know, darling,” I continued, “if we’re giving the washing machine away as a gift, we can’t do things halfway.”
I patted the laundry basket.
“This is the main supplier of dirty laundry.”
I pointed at the suitcase.
“And this is one of the household’s main consumers.”
Then I pointed at the pillow.
“And this is the comfort package.”
Oleg’s expression began to change.
“Are you crazy?”
“Of course not. I’m just finishing what you started.”
I took out my phone.
I called Tamara Ilyinichna on video.
My mother-in-law answered almost immediately.
Apparently, she had already been waiting for her triumphant moment.
“Olezhenka, my boy! Are you bringing the machine already?”
“Good afternoon, Tamara Ilyinichna!” I smiled into the camera.
Oleg stood beside me, staring suspiciously at me.
“You’re going to be very happy. We’re sending you not only the washing machine, but Olezhenka too.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Well, of course. Someone has to operate the machine. We’ve packed his clothes, his fishing equipment, and his favorite pillow.”
Oleg’s eyes widened.
“Don’t you dare…”
But I continued:
“From now on, there will be someone to connect the water, press the buttons, clean the filter, and, naturally, make sure there’s always enough detergent.”
Tamara Ilyinichna’s face changed in an instant.
“What Olezhenka?”
“Your son.”
“Why are you sending him here?!”
“Well, with the washing machine.”
“You don’t need to send me a grown man!”
Gennady Petrovich suddenly burst out laughing.
Tamara Ilyinichna glared at him through the screen.
But our neighbor had already turned serious.
“Ilyinichna, why exactly do you need a new washing machine? What’s wrong with the old one?”
“It makes an awful noise during the spin cycle!”
“Like there are rocks inside?”
“Exactly!”
Gennady Petrovich scratched his chin.
“Then you don’t need a new machine.”
Everyone fell silent.
“Probably something is simply stuck in the drain filter. A coin, a hair clip, a bra underwire… something like that.”
“What?” Oleg asked.
“A few minutes of work. Clean it out, and that’s it.”
Oleg’s face looked like someone who had just realized he had dug out an entire mountain because of a molehill.
At that exact moment, the truck we had ordered pulled into the yard.
The driver stuck his head out of the window.
“Did you order the truck?”
“Yes,” I said.
Oleg looked at me.
I smiled.
“Only the destination has changed slightly.”
“What?”
“The washing machine is staying.”
“But…”
“You’re paying for the truck.”
The driver was already honking impatiently.
“Either we load it or you pay for the waiting time!”
Oleg slowly took out his wallet.
Saying goodbye to his own money was clearly much more painful for him than lifting the washing machine.
After the truck left, Gennady Petrovich stood up.
“Want me to help push it back inside?”
“No!” Oleg snapped.
He leaned against the cart.
The washing machine moved inch by inch back into the apartment.
Oleg cursed, sweated, and groaned as he struggled with it.
I watched from the doorway.
“Careful not to scratch the floor!” I called out sweetly.
“I know!”
“And be careful with the washing machine!”
“I know!”
“After all, now you know how valuable it is.”
Oleg said nothing.
That evening, he still went to his mother’s place.
He cleaned the filter of her old washing machine.
And sure enough, Gennady Petrovich had been right.
They found a mother-of-pearl button, several rusty coins, a hair clip, and, of course, the famous bra underwire inside the filter.
They cleaned the old machine.
And, miracle of miracles:
It worked silently.
Like a Swiss watch.
Of course, Tamara Ilyinichna still tried to complain.
“But I thought I was getting a new washing machine…”
Oleg simply looked at her tiredly.
“Mom, check the filter first.”
Since then, that has become our family motto.
Whenever Tamara Ilyinichna complains about something, Oleg no longer rushes out to buy a new appliance.
He doesn’t promise her gifts.
He doesn’t arrange for a delivery truck.
He simply sighs deeply and says:
“Mom… check the filter.”
And my washing machine has been peacefully standing in its place ever since.
Clean.
Intact.
And most importantly:
mine.
Since then, I’ve learned one thing for certain.
If someone suddenly claims they need something that belongs to you in the name of “family,” “love,” or “noble sacrifice,” don’t necessarily start arguing.
Smile.
Agree.
But always add one tiny condition:
the generous gift comes with the generous benefactor.
Because, strangely enough, people love other people’s possessions as long as they think they’re getting them for free.
But as soon as the package includes a grown husband…
suddenly everyone realizes that the old washing machine is actually perfectly good after all.
