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Ode to the vacuum cleaner

Ode to the vacuum cleaner
Oh Mr. McGaffey,
Inventor of the vacuum,
The Dr. Frankenstein of modern age,
Creator of a monster disguised as a machine.
I’d rather pick the crumbs out of our rugs,
And sweep every hard floor,
Than have this other option,
For the sake of efficiency,
The vacuum cleaner.
Lo! Beware!

The Story:
I know that you are all on the edge of your computer chairs after my thrilling poetry, but you must now calm yourselves and read this story…this tragedy.
Our vacuum is the very vacuum pictured above. Though the lady in pink appears to be happy, that is only because she is only a model and she is not being forced to actually use the vacuum which she holds so naively in her hands. This is what you need to know about our vacuum before the story:
1. It has been called an elephant and a monster in the past
2. It has been a member of our household for as long as I can remember
3. It vacuums very well
4. There have been plots to assassinate and replace the monster multiple times
5. the monster must weigh like 470 pounds
Now, my mother loves this vacuum because, as I said, it vacuums very well. But other than that, I really hate it. It looks dainty enough in the ad, but in actual reality, it is a huge grey elephant that must be dragged between chairs and carried (like an over weight toddler) up and down stairs every Monday! And, inside you will find a bucket. The bucket must be filled with water and then, seven hours later, when you’re done vacuuming, you take it out just when it begins to smell, carry it outside (far enough that we don’t smell or see it later), dump the water out, locate a small branch, poke inside and spend a matter of minutes scraping wet dust and hairs and spiders and ponytail holders out of this bucket. Then, the lid never fits on quite right and there are many different attachments that are supposed to hook onto the back but by the end of the day are scattered in basically every room you vacuumed. And at one point every day you have the misfortune of vacuuming, you are destined to find yourself with the hose around your leg, the end sucking your shirt and the plug threatening to pull out if you flinch so much as to sniff back the tears!
Well! Today I didn’t do most the vacuuming. But I did the end. I finished us off and this proves to be a point when the monster is tired and grouchy and won’t cooperate no matter how hard you cry. I was actually done. I was tired and a little moist from the water aspect of this task but I was done. So I began to feed the cord back into the little mouth. Well, it was of course tangled around all four wheels and the hose so this turned into a frustrating struggle. During this, something fell off the bottom of the vacuum. I picked it up, it looked like a six legged barbie table. Luckily, Joey was walking down the hall in front of me. “Joey, what is this?” I asked in what I know must have been a irritated tone. “I don’t know.” He said. “Well, it fell off the bottom of the vacuum and I don’t want to flip it over to try and find where it goes because it’ll spill the water.” I say. “Well, you can go ahead and take the water out since you’re done and then flip it over.” He begins to travel up the stairs, skipping four stairs with each ostrich step. “I was kind of hoping you’d help me find where it belongs.” Says I. “I think that there will just be a big hole that you stick it into.” He says. So he continues on, but he’s only on the second flight of stairs when he hears a BANG and SPLASH and MOAN. “Are you ok?” He asks, footsteps stopping. “No…” I groan. He comes back down to find me lying on the floor, sprawled out on my back, the vacuum tipped over, the bucket upright but the lid at a distance and water running down two walls. I’m holding my finger and declaring my life to be a “ball of poop.”
I am sorry if that offends any of you, my language can be quite profane in such desperate situations.
We both started laughing and Joey said: “You can be glad that you didn’t spill the whole bucket of water.” and I said: “Yeah Pollyanna.” and something about cursed Mondays.
Then he trotted back up stairs and I sat up, finding my finger to be alright after all and appraised the situation. I looked at the bottom of the vacuum. Lo! There was a little hole. But the table didn’t fit in it! Then Birdie came walking down the stairs and, seeing the muddy water, stopped. “Do you need some help?” She offered. “Yes! This little table thingy won’t fit in this little hole and…can you give Joey a message for me?” “Mmhm.” “Tell him that the ball of poop needs help. There is an issue with the barbie table.” She giggled and ran up to Joey’s room and then reappeared. “Joey says that he knows what you’re talking about and he’ll be right there.” She giggled away. Joey then reappears (kind soul) and informs me that the little table doesn’t go all the way into the hole but that I had it in right. I was overjoyed, ran out and emptied the remaining water, put the vacuum away (yippee) and mopped up all the goop up with a rag.
All is well,


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