The Secret to a Happy Marriage

I’m no Casanova, but I know a thing or two: I know diamonds are dumb and roses are for rubes and the real way to a woman’s heart is to fix the washing machine. Lately, my wife has been dropping lots of amorous hints, like “The washing machine got stuck again,” and “Ugh! I had to restart that load of towels three times!”

I like to play it coy at first, as if I’m not even listening, which really drives her wild.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“I will take a look at it,” I replied nonchalantly. I call this advanced romantic repartee, “The Art of the I Will.” It is best used repeatedly, to build playful tension in the relationship, ideally to the point where your wife is teasing you about outsourcing appliance repair to another man.

“If you don’t look at it soon, I’m going to call a repairman,” she deadpanned.

“I will, I will,” I said.

It’s playing with fire, but these days appliance repairmen are a dying breed, so it’s highly unlikely there is one locally who could service the washer, but never—and I repeat never—do you want a polite, punctual, professional elderly man testing your wife’s sensors or swapping out her actuator. That is a standard you’ll never be able to live up to.

This past weekend, after a long buildup of “I wills,” I took it upon myself to plan a big romantic getaway. Really, my wife was the only one getting away, to go visit her parents. Her dad has been having some health issues, and since Thomas was sick, I stayed home with him for a guy’s weekend.

My plan was to surprise her by cleaning the house and fixing the washing machine while she was gone. I had secretly ordered the needed part for the washer earlier in the week. According to the polite, punctual, professional elderly man on YouTube, repairing the faulty door lock mechanism should only take twenty minutes.

After two hours, I gave up.

“Ugh! This stupid washer!” I said.

“You’re not supposed to say ‘stupid,”” Thomas replied. He had been acting as my assistant, mostly picking up the tiny screws I kept fumbling and dropping. I had hoped to impress him with my handyman acumen. But this was beyond my skill to diagnose and fix. It was not the door lock mechanism. It was not a clogged inlet screen. The washer just refused to switch over to the spin cycle, even after it had drained.

“Don’t tell my mom I said that,” I told Thomas. “How about we go down to the barn and get the hand truck.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re going to get rid of this piece of junk and buy a new washer.”

Guys, let me tell you—there are few gestures more romantic than fixing a washing machine. One is buying a new washer and having it ready upon your wife’s return home.

Another, cheaper option, is doing the laundry.

Heed and remember.

The Old Washer