What Priority Problem?

Just about a week ago my wife Trina informed me of the impending destruction of our washer and dryer. Ok, that is not exactly true. According to Trina she has been telling me for months that our washing machine was dying it was just a week ago that I started listening to her. In my defense I probably would have listened to her earlier if the washing machine was not making so much noise but then that probably should have clued me in that there was a problem in the first place. In a guy’s mind “impending destruction” of an appliance means that we still have time. It’s not like the appliance is already dead; it’s just mostly dead which means it’s partially alive. That distinction may be a technicality and in my case it was a short-lived technicality. The washer decided the day before Opening Day to finally give up the ghost. With its last spin it squealed like a teenage girl at the sight of Conor Jackson then died never to spin again.


The timing of this death is especially important. It happened on Opening Day Eve; the day before baseball season started. Why is it that bad things always seem to happen at the most inconvenient time? I mean there was no Diamondbacks baseball for four months; why couldn’t the washer die then? Being a guy I decided that there was just no way that I was going to let an appliance dictate the timeline of my life. It was just going to have to wait until baseball was over before I could give it my undivided attention. I tried explaining this to Trina and for some strange reason she disagreed with my approach.

“There is absolutely no way I am living without a washing machine and a dryer for 6 months because of a stupid baseball game!” She exclaimed.

Sometimes I just do not understand women. It’s not like I was suggesting that we not breathe for 6 months; this was a washing machine. As far as men are concerned this is one appliance that is more of a luxury than a necessity. I distinctly remember when I was in college I went at least 6 months without doing laundry. Guys and girls have a different approach to laundry. Girls seem to think that once you wear something it is dirty. Guys on the other hand believe that there are varying degrees of clean and dirty and it is not until you get to the deepest levels of dirty that it is required to wash and even then it sometimes makes more sense to just buy new and start over rather than wash.

I surveyed my closet and reviewed the Arizona Diamondbacks promotional schedule and I figured that I had enough Diamondbacks shirts to last me probably until the All-Star break. After that I could maybe get 1 more use from each shirt before the toxicity levels absolutely required washing. My son Dakota likewise seemed to be set for most of the season and agreed with my approach. This probably should have been my first indication that my plan was flawed. When your only ally in a cleanliness argument is an 11 year-old boy who has to be begged to take a bath you are not arguing from a position of strength.

I tried to explain my dilemma and place blame on the Major League Baseball scheduler. I mean it wasn’t me who gave the Diamondbacks 18 home games in April (not that I’m complaining). How could I possibly fit in washing machine repair and/or shopping into such a schedule? The best I could offer would be following the afternoon game against the St. Louis Cardinals. I would have the off day and the three game series when the Diamondbacks were at San Francisco that I could work on this.

Trina was extremely unreasonable at this point. She began freaking out explaining that I had a severe priority problem and that the washing machine was not the only thing that needed to be “fixed”. How could she say I have a priority problem? I had the Diamondbacks at the top of the list; that by definition validated the priority list. I think maybe it’s my wife that needs to rethink her priorities. Maybe what she needs is to go to a baseball game; that should straighten out her thinking. It’s not like she has laundry to do so she has plenty of time to enjoy a game.


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