I bought a new vacuum cleaner tonight.
It was time.
The area rug is luxuriant with a thick layer of Chihuahua hair. Ritz cracker crumbs add an unexpected crunchy texture to the trip from chesterfield to fridge. The dust bunnies are big enough to take out the Easter Bunny. And the cobwebs! They’re thick as Tarzan’s vines and they festoon every corner. (What are cobwebs, exactly?)
My sailor interrupted the dog rolling on the carpet, grinding some ancient Milk Bone crumbs into its woof and its weave.
“I think she’s happy the house finally smells like her.”
“Well, it’s her home, too,” I said, hoping to postpone the inevitable.
“I’ll stop at Walmart after work tomorrow and get a new vacuum.”
Sigh. “I’ll do it.”
I’ve never gone this long without vacuuming. (Please don’t do the math and figure out exactly how long it’s been.) My sailor, raised by a fastidious ER nurse and a retired Army Sergeant, has never gone half this long without vacuuming.
I’ve enjoyed being liberated from a machine that literally sucks, but all good things must come to an end.
Tonight I bought a new vacuum cleaner and tomorrow I’ll vacuum . . . or the next day.