Last night we finished up our washer comparison shopping at Sears, after temporarily raising the hopes of the floor salesman at Lowes. They all get the same look on their faces when they see us comparing models—it’s a predatory look, masked with the “I’m here to answer your questions” smile, and it’s a little comical to see how quickly it fades when they realize we’re carrying a fistful of Consumer Reports articles with notes scribbled in the margins.

I react pretty poorly to hovering salesmen, I’m sad to say. Jen compares my tone of voice to an old-school running back, where I’m carrying the ball with my arm straight out, aimed directly at the forehead of the oncoming rushers. I’m the type of person who does not care for the hard sell. I don’t need the expensive accessories, and I’ve most likely already made up my mind what I want, just please tell me if you have the stupid thing in stock and in white, mmmkay? Sears, unfortunately, tries to push the extended warranty thing, which is always a comical bit of salesmanship—you’re selling me a $700 metal cube and now you’re trying to sell me an insurance policy with scare tactics? I understand that appliance margins are tight, but I’m not stupid enough to buy that line of crap. Also, if I say I’m not interested, I’m not interested. Take a hint.

Knowing we’re looking at adding to the herd this year, we bought a front-loading washer in preparation for mountains of baby clothes, and I imagine we’ll be down there with shovels, constantly feeding it, like coalmen on the Queen Mary. We found a Kenmore model next to lots of little red bubbles in the Consumer Reports chart, and within about three minutes had it set up for delivery on Friday. Which means I need to build a platform for it by tomorrow night (the metal platform sold as an accessory is $199—HA) and clean up the last of the flood debris so that they can haul away the 3-year-old GE unit that crapped out on us.