Most of the time.
I picked it out after a whole day of diligent research. I knew what I could afford and when I went to Sears (don't knock it - any company that's been around as long as Sears AND used to sell mail-order homes is A-OK in my book!) I knew exactly the model I wanted to look at.
Right next to the model I could afford was a souped-up version of my machine. Just, you know, sitting there looking way shinier and flashier than the one I decided on earlier. The souped-up machine had a see-through glass top and instead of a regular agitator it just had a little round mound on the bottom.
The sales man explained to me how the souped-up model, while two hundred dollars more expensive could hold more laundry, had more buttons and could, you know, perform exorcisms on demand and make lunch for the kids.
My well planned shopping excursion hit a snag. More Buttons? More Laundry? Holy Monkey Butts! I needed that washing machine. I hemmed and hawed, walked between the two models to the point where I scuffed up the shiny waxed floor. The man flitted between me and another customer but I kept asking him more and more questions: warranty? rebates? sales?
In the end, being as budget conscious as possible, I stuck with my original plan: Buy the less expensive but still fully functional machine and be satisfied with that.
Oh! How I sometimes hate that decision. Because every. single. time. I need to wash blankets (which is often as we don't like to use flat sheets and we have long haired cats that insist upon shedding all their fur on the blankets) this happens:
|And the blankets get so waterlogged and twisted around it is nearly impossible for me to pull them out.|