cheaper than therapy

or, Like Mother, Like Daughter

I think I’ve mentioned somewhere about my strange affection for my vacuum cleaner. Especially when I’m stressed out or upset. When I’m feeling that way, I like to take it out for a spin and just waltz around the room with it and let the noise drown out my thoughts until I’m feeling soothed again. I got this from my mother, who has done the same with her collection of Dirt Devils, Hoovers, and antique Kirbys as long as I can remember. This was such a running joke between my sister Pentyne and I, that we did some portraiture of the crew and stuck it in some journal somewhere.

Well, this week being the kiddo’s birthday, her Babci (grandma) took her out for a shopping spree. Her heart’s desire, which she held in a death-grip embrace throughout the spree, was this:


It’s love…

This is Dusty the Vacuum Cleaner. Or, Dyson, as the kiddo christened him while crowing “just like Mama” cheerfully as she vroomed with him around the house. Unlike Mama, the kiddo has taken to donning her tiara while vacuuming, as “Dyson” barks out such gems like “ooh, a dustbunny! Let’s get him!”, and, “This house is a pigsty!”.

Which makes me want to smack the smile right off of that smarmy face of his.



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February 2007
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