When I went off to college, setting up my first "house", my folks bought a vacuum cleaner for me. It wasn't expensive but it worked. It worked hard for twelve years and then went to vacuum Heaven where pet hair comes up easily and paper clips or rubber bands do not cause loud clunking or that burning smell. It's nice for them, poor tired old vacuums.
This meant I had to buy a new one. Well, there are plenty of em out there: bagless, canisters, one has a ball instead of fixed wheels...oooOOOooo....It's a vacuum. Clean my rug and don't eat my drapes. I spent a little extra and got one with all SORTS of tools and hoses and "stuff". Five years down the line? That nasty lil muthuh won't pick up a THING. What's worse? There's a clog. I KNOW it and I can't get to it; it's physically impossible. I've taken it apart and the ONE spot that I can't reach is packed up with miscellaneous what not from under my furniture (I'm guessing cereal and Winston..he's been awfully quiet lately). I've used other vacuums, coat hangers..you name it. "Old Red" has become quite a bitch in her middle age. She will stop working; just simply shut off. And when I punish her by putting her in the garage (faking like I'm going to throw her away) she changes her mind and works again. We have a hate/contempt relationship. Twice a week I tell her I'll be glad when she's dead. I hate her so much I fantasize about dragging her revving and whining to the back of the yard, hoisting her over my head and swinging her in a circle against some trees...JUST to hear the little bits crack. Trite? Perhaps. But I like it.
I bought a new one for Promises. SHE works great (she's even pink...PINK). Cheech wanted me to switch them but I refused. I would NOT share my beautiful Promises with that suckless wench. No way. So I went back to my vacuum voodoo even building a Leggo model and snapping pieces off in the hopes that she would break.
I would like to thank my parents for getting the job done. While they were here, they decided to help out and vacuum. Well, Lil Miss Priss didn't enjoy being handled by strangers and conked out. My father the engineer decided to fix her with emergency "attitude adjusting" surgery. She retaliated by committing suicide. she burned out. I walked in from work and smelled that chalky, hot "appliance" death smell and rejoiced. Tears of satisfaction streaming down my grinning cheeks as I cried out:
"Ding Dong The Witch is Dead! The Vacuum Witch! An EVIL Witch~ DING DONG The Wicked Witch is DEAAAAAAD!"
I quickly skipped to the store and began to browse. I looked at the expensive ones, but I'd had one of those experiences; not memorable or pleasant. Then tucked away was a skinny Charlie Brown vacuum. It was light weight with no bag and only a couple of bobbles/attachments. But it winked at me (maybe the headlight fuse was bad). It was the same brand as my new girl up north. He was on sale.
"Come on Big Daddy. Let's go home." and we did.
A couple of screws and some German pictographs (I only know that because I recognized the word "Nein") and I had a new outlook on home maintenance. I named him Magnus...and he did NOT disappoint. I believe he could pull the drapes down...from next door.
My girlfriend called.
"Are you vacuuming AGAIN? Stop. You need help."
"I like it. It makes me happy. You should see what kind of mess that witch left behind! I'm going to do the windowsills, I'm glad she's gone. I hated her."
She laughed at me. "Your vacuum...." she drawled. I suppose I've earned it.
So I put Magnus away and patted his nubby head.
"You suck." I smiled.
Skewed? Yes. But I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Thanks for coming over. Let's do it again soon.
