By Friday this week we had two mounds of Lawry’s season salt in the living room, piles of filched face powder in my bathroom and hidden behind the door in the girl’s bedroom (I hope my shininess didn’t blind you today at church), and granola providing a gravel-like crunch under the dining table.
And our vacuum wasn’t working.
I spent half an hour last week digging out conglomerated guck out of it with the long threader-tweezer from my serger. Only to get going this week and find that while it was sucking stuff up, the stuff wasn’t getting into the dirt cup.
I thought that I would be a responsible adult and take it in to the vacuum repair shop. I am usually the never-ask-for-directions, believe-I-can-fix-anything kind of girl. When we were first married, I was named the official handyman of the house. But with each child, my handy knack diminishes.
After Amelie was born, I remember trying to put up curtain rods. Four drywall screws. Not hard. I slaved for 45 minutes with no progress. Devo came home and had it done in five minutes. And I couldn’t even console myself that I’d already done all the hard work. That day I handed the handyman title over to him and I’ve only looked back occasionally and regrettably since.
So I didn’t feel equal to bringing our vacuum into submission. I took it in to the local vacuum/sewing shop. The lady helping me took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to fill in the service form. She blamed her slowness on missing her morning cup of coffee. But it was 11am, and there were ample signs that caffeine wouldn’t help the situation noticeably.
So she finally gets all the serial numbers in and tells me that it’s going to cost $75. I about choked. I might as well go buy a new one!, I said. She fussed around distractedly for a few more minutes and found a paper that said I could get a basic service for $40.
I took up my vacuum and walked.
So much for being a responsible adult.
I went home and took a nap. I was worn out from my efforts. (Ha! I was worn out from not being able to sleep properly at night because I have SONGS going through my head all night long! This appears to be a pregnancy thing…it happened with Amelie, too. Do you think that means this child will be exceptionally musical? Somebody please tell me that something good will come out of hours of “L is for the way you look at me”, in fast-forward.)
While I was taking my nap, my beloved husband took the thing apart, got out gobs more guck, washed out the hose, and put it all to rights. Within 3 seconds, I’m sure.
So our floor is clean now. You can come over and visit without risking increased hypertension from salt-intake via foot absorption. Or getting powder between your toes. Or a granola massage. Actually, the salt might have been good for an exfoliating salt rub. It sounds like a foot spa. Maybe that’s why my feet have been so soft this week…