Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

I wear wool dress slacks and long-sleeved dress shirts to work everyday. As a result, I take shirts to the cleaners for laundering/pressing regularly, and I get my dress slacks dry cleaned less often. Weekly, I steam my dress slacks to get the wrinkles out. So, I know something about the frustrations of caring for clothing, and I had high hopes that this nifty invention--let's call her Swashy--would allow me to make fewer trips to the cleaners, providing both a time and cost savings. Before I tried Swashy, I told others about her, and we all marveled at what she promised to do. Then I experienced her, and I SO BAD broke up with her. I left her sitting at the table and told her I had to use the restroom. Never went back. Now I'll tell you the full story. First, Swashy showed up to the house, and the UPS guy was SO not happy. She came in a large/heavy box--much bigger than I expected. Somehow, he managed to get her up onto the front porch. When I got home I dragged her into the house and removed all of the outer packaging to admire her in all her glory. She was beautiful, and my dreams of her were still alive. She wasn't petite, but with a little heave ho, I was able to lift her up the stairs and into our bonus room--the only room where my wife allowed me to put her. I thought about bringing her into our bedroom, but my wife was not having it. After several days, I got around to figuring out how to press her buttons. She came with a handy user guide, a variety pack of 12 pods, a special hanger, and a special pocket wrinkle remover for dress shirts. She also came with a text-to-register card (cool) and an incentive of 2 extra hangers by mail if I registered (so I did). She even came with an offer for a $20 prepaid cash card to complete a survey, which I plan to do. However, this is a short-term survey offer, and I make no assurances you will get one too. Once I read the user manual and plugged her in, she was ready to go. My heart was racing. She was a cold, inanimate object, but I imagined her heart to be racing, too. I started with some 100% wool dress slacks. I hung them, as indicated in the user manual, on the special hanger, dropped open her drawer, inserted a pod into her, ahem, receptacle, and put her drawer back in place. I pushed the 10-minute button, and she finally started to show some signs of life. She let out a somewhat loud, mechanical whimper as she started to do her thing--not exactly the sound I expected to hear out of her, but you never know what sounds you will hear. Then she just purred for about 10 minutes as she finished the job. The moment of truth had arrived. It was time to take out the pants and see what she'd done to them. First, they were wetter than I had expected, but then these things can get messy. I guess I should have selected the 15-minute button, which the user manual told me was for those articles that needed more drying. Aside from being wet, my main focus was on the crotch and seat of the pants. I wanted to see if she'd gotten out those pesky wrinkles that come out with the clothes steamer I do every week. NOPE! I was SO NOT BELIEVING THIS. What was she doing in there for 10 minutes, for crying out loud?!? Not wanting to give up on her, I chose another pair of 100% wool dress slacks and inserted them into her gently. This time, I chose the 15-minute button. She shrieked again, then purred again, then finished her thing. I dropped open her drawer and inspected the goods. Dry this time? Well, pretty dry, but still a little wet. Aside from that, she did no better getting out the pesky crotch and seat wrinkles. Maybe my pants just weren't her type. I thought I should introduce her to my dress shirts and see if they hit it off. The first 100% cotton dress shirt that I wore last week (NOT one of those wrinkle-free types--it was quite wrinkled) went into her. Her clips held the shirt taut, which is the idea, in order to remove wrinkles in the process. I was certain that I had everything just so before I closed her drawer back up. I pushed the 10-minute button, and I let her go to town, as usual. When she was done, I was only moderately impressed with her ability to remove the wrinkles. I blamed her imperfections on me--"No, it's not you. It's me!" I promised to clip the shirt in better the next time around, and I proceeded to run the same shirt through a second cycle. After the second cycle, I looked away from the shirt, not wanting to notice that it wasn't as pretty as the ones I get from the cleaners. Wearable? Not in my book. Still not wanting to give up, I grabbed another 100% cotton dress shirt that I wore last week--this one a "wrinkle-free" jobby. I dropped open her drawer, and mounted the shirt inside of her. Shriek, purr, you know the deal. This time, the result was semi-OK, but nothing to write home about. But then who writes home about these types of affairs anyway? These online ads promise so much, but it's hard to judge somebody until you meet her in person. Swashy was not all she was cracked up to be. I wished that she had been just the answer to my washing woes. In the end, she was just Wishy Washy Swashy, and I have moved on.