It so happened that the frustration and anger I bottle up like so many delicious bottles of Coke exploded yesterday. I let it out, had a good cry, then did some cleaning. I also took a couple of naps. Catharsis. Anyway, I still had a little pent up emotion this afternoon so I decided to take it out on Madison’s room, which had become a literal dumping ground since the twins were born. But since I sleep there, it was a problem. Whenever I’d wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I’d inevitably step on something that – if the gods were merciful – would be less painful than a piece of Lego. Every man has his breaking point, even if that man sleeps in a pink room, replete with Disney Princess wall clings. I just finished almost 3 hours of cleaning. And so I am celebrating such productivity in the place where I go to be productive: Mauka McDonald’s. There’s no champagne here, but there is a yogurt parfait and a small Coke. Cheers.
The details of the actual cleaning process are tedious and unworthy of discussion in this space save for the numerous tupperware containers of Madison’s slime that I discovered hidden among the ruins. As amazing as that was, the real treat was the promise of being able to use my new stick cordless vacuum cleaner. Sadly, our Dyson (which has been a contributing member to our society since 2012) began to fail. It couldn’t hold a charge. The trigger became unreliable. I gave it one last shot yesterday and it ran in only 5-second bursts. God, I love that movie. Well, whatever. We had used it for quick vacuum jobs, picking up sand in the cars, and on the kitchen floor, but perhaps we asked too much of it when the twins were born and they began chucking bits of food and other detritus all over our home. Whatever the case, it could no longer be depended upon in its prime.
I had no desire to pay Dyson money again, so I walked through the appliance aisle during my Monday Costco run and came upon this Shark. I did my due diligence by flipping through Amazon and other reviews sites on my phone while Cole shouted “VA-CUM!” from the shopping cart. It rated well and was on sale. That’ll do it.
So I finally used it once the floor of Madison’s room was mostly cleared. It feels nice. I already know I’m going to love being able to use it without having to squeeze the trigger. The head at the bottom has much more power than my old Dyson. It tugs the vacuum forward, leading me gently on like an experienced lover. Worry not. I will take care of things. Trust me. This carpet will be cleaned. And if it isn’t, love, Costco has an amazing return policy. And if that sounds insane, you’re absolutely right. But it’s sexy, too, no? Especially that last part. We shall see how the Shark fares once it has challenged by Cole and Avery.
As is tradition in these parts, I will send off the Dyson in the most honorable way possible in this blog: a brief eulogy followed by some Michelle Branch.
You sucked but that was your job. The rest of us should be so lucky. Thank you for the countless times you aided the retrieval of Cheerios, of debris in those hard to reach places, but most of all the sand in the nooks and crannies of the Corolla, Highlander, and the Sienna. I hope you join Kirby from The Brave Little Toaster in that appliance junkyard in the sky. Ahem.