Don’t get me wrong: I don’t mind vacuum cleaning. Nothing like the satisfaction of a job well done and all that jazz. (Yeah, yeah… whatever.) But, seriously! I am a fanatic about housework! I don’t mean to brag, but I clean once a MONTH whether it needs it or not. That’s just the kinda gal that I am. And if the place is a little fuzzy around the edges, the way it will get when you have a cat, then I just invite company over. I was speaking about motivation earlier: there’s nothing like the anxiety of other people tripping over the dust bunnies to stir a housekeeper into action.
But the vacuum cleaner itself: it’s a good machine, really. It is very powerful, and does what I expect it to do. So what’s the problem, you ask.
I don’t know how it happens, but I get entangled in the dang-blang cords and hoses. It’s heavy and awkward to move around the house. It is a powerful unit because of the motor – a heavy duty, you should excuse the expression, sucker. Can’t have power without the weight. That rationalization does nothing to stop my temper tantrums when the canister collides with the door jamb. Truly pitiful. Me, I mean.
Huh. Maybe I was a housemaid in a past life and had the task of cleaning a Edwardian estate. Recently, I watched the entire BBC series The Edwardian Farm. The actors demonstrated the two-person machine illustrated above. After seeing that baby in action, I realized: maybe I should stop complaining.
Categories: Work, work, work