You have to love the stuff your kids give you. Even if it is a bottle of overly smelly cologne from the dollar store. This grace period can, I would argue, extend well into their adult years. In light of this, I chuckled good-naturedly when last year’s seemingly impressive gift was presented—behold—the cheapest of the cheap vacuums was mine!
What the universe neglected to note was that I had been dreaming about buying a new vacuum cleaner, one that cost more than what it costs to get two large pizzas. A vacuum cleaner that would not sneeze out its contents after 17 minutes of operation. No, the universe had been sleeping on the job, because the vacuum that I received was constructed of the same materials used to craft yogurt containers.
Now all of this would have been less painful if I had not followed that vacuum gifting experience with a repeat performance of receiving virtually the same incredibly cheap vacuum, one year later. Now it would seem I am not destined to ever own a higher and vacuum cleaner. I cannot make this vacuum cleaner suck, (Oh, wait! I don’t have to!). I cannot make this vacuum cleaner release its cup full of junk; the only way that it gives up the junk is if it vomits it out onto the carpet.
Did I mention that the second cheap and evil vacuum was gifted by the man of the house?
Gentlemen. Believe me. You don’t want to be that guy.
The closest it would seem that I will get anything like a robot vacuum cleaner is the way, when Mr. McSucky Face catches the corner of one eye, it looks like a student raising their hand to speak. “Ms. Peachy! Ms. Peachy! Pick me! I suck the most!”
My sentient vacuum cleaners. You both suck . The most.