Dirt DEVIL

I've never treated my household appliances with much respect. I've been known to pack my entire set of dishes in one cycle of the dishwasher. When the new super capacity washing machines came out, my mom said you know you should get one of those. You can get 13 pair of jeans in one load. Shoot, I do that now with my regular washing machine.

My washer did finally give out a few years ago. Of course, Devon bought it for $25 bucks while he was a bachelor. I think it was 15 years old at that time and it lasted us a good ten years. I think it quit because it was old and not because I jammed every load full.

So my mistreated appliances haven't complained, that is until now.

Ignoring the beautiful weather outside, I went on mission organization in my son's room. I picked up more trash than I can't even possibly describe in words. I went to the garage to get my trusty dirt devil.

Our last hoover vacuum kicked the bucket two years ago after my housekeeper never changed the bag, dang her. Hoovie was going on 7 years himself and couldn't quite take another dog hair in his system.

So back to the devil. She was doing okay, but as I pushed her over Lego's, hair scrunchies, small twigs, she started giving me the hint that she was just a vacuum, not a brush hog. I guess she had enough and threw her attachments up. No seriously, not a play on words, she literally was blowing her attachment right out of that connector thingy bob on the motor.

I stubbornly reattached her hoses and kept pushing right over pieces of plastic, scattered m&m's, and huge balls of fuzz. She sputtered and I felt like she was glaring at me with that bright green ONE YEAR warranty sticker knowing that she was indeed TWO years old and she could quit any minute and there was nothing I could do about it.

Now this little devil just made me mad. I muttered at her that I didn't really like cleaning up after everyone else either, but we don't have a choice.

Keep sucking I sneered at her. She spit out her attachment once more spewing at my feet little shreds of paper and half chewed m&m's. I shoved the attachment in once more and rode her like a water weary camel. We rounded the hallway and I headed toward the shag rug. She HATES that rug. She pulls out her little vacuum brakes as I shove her over the seamed edge. Using all my muscle, I drag her over and over the rug. Her motor drowns sputtering and coughing through.

I finally let her wind down and tell her she better be glad I have hardwood floors now. I wrap up her cord and send her back to her spot in the garage. Satisfied that I won out the battle, I close the door, but not without catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. I swore I saw her whispering to the swiffer.

So as I started this post, I was searching the web for an appropriate vacuum pic. Devon peaks his head in, sees the vacuum pics, and asks "are you buying a new vacuum". I wish, I sneared, ours sucks. Quite smartly, he retorts, Isn't it supposed to?

Very funny.