I don’t know if I can adequately describe to you the sorrow that filled my heart when my vacuum cleaner died earlier this week. How could I have fallen in love so deeply with this machine? We have just been through so much together I suppose. My little Dirt Devil was one of my first real grown up purchases when I moved out of my parents house. I was so excited to have a bag-less upright, so easy to empty. She was a light weight model carried up flights of stairs like a breeze… plus who can ignore her “microfresh” filtration system which trapped 99% of allergens.
I think I will miss most though the times we spent dancing across the living room floor, and all the times I accidentally vacuumed up long strings or pens and we would both squeal loudly and then laugh (well the vacuum didn’t laugh… but it did squeal) as I shut her off and hoped that she would still work… and she always did, well until this week that is.
The burial has not taken place yet however, I am hopeful that I will be able to buy the part for the spiny-brush-thing that snapped off and we can be reunited again. Until that time my carpet lies spotted with the remnants of daily living, and I am waiting to hear the hum of a dear old friend as she gracefully sucks all of my troubles away.