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| A Hoover? How depressing! |
Since she cleaned her home herself, the Dyson vacuum cleaner
seemed a purchase almost sublime in its practicality. She could spend five hunnies on several sessions of just
above mediocre work by a cleaning crew, or she could invest in a Dyson – a machine
that would convert the task of cleaning one’s home from a traditional and
servile obligation to a high-tech and patrician form of recreation.
Well, almost.
One fine day, when our lady was reveling in her home’s transformation via Dyson vacuum cleaner, she smelled something.
Something. Very. Bad.
“Son,” she called to her then eight year old, while
crinkling her nose in disgust. “Did Moxie poop?” Moxie was the family dog, who, as she had aged, had taken to
having more and more accidents, both liquid and solid, in the house.
“Yeah,” said the boy, who, loving the innovative ball
technology visible through the transparent canister, was now nothing short of a
cleaning spectator extraordinaire.
He pointed to a spot his mom had already vacuumed. “Over there.”
Incredulous, she haltingly went to look at the place her son indicated.
True to a Dyson vacuum cleaner’s reputation, the spot was
clean as a whistle – all traces of dog poop were gone. But the room stunk to high heaven. It was nothing short of the smell of destruction.
The Dyson no longer worked properly. It was dead. Death by dog poop. A super-sized vacuum fail/mommy fail combo platter.
She sank to the floor. She cried. She performed the twenty-first century equivalent of beating
her breast and tearing at her hair. Her son, seeing his mother in such grave
agony, cried too.
Does not everything I touch turn to shit? she rage-wondered inwardly. She would honestly have preferred to
step in dog poop a thousand times over than endure this.
But then, like summer storm clouds parting to reveal sunshine,
grief gave way to hope. Wait! Surely there must be a way to fix my Dyson
vacuum! There must be some
technological remedy for this finely engineered machine!
Her heart fluttering, she rifled through the phone book,
found local vacuum repair shops, and explained her plight to the voice on the
other side.
Unfortunately, every single person explained to her that
there was no way they could help. Extracting dog poop from a vacuum would
jeopardize their workers’ health.
Sadly, she was shit out of luck.
There was nothing she could do but accept her plight and
move on – a difficult thing to do knowing that she had essentially thrown $500
into the toilet.
Alas, simply unable to live without her Dyson, she purchased
another. But from then on, before
vacuuming, she crawled around on all fours in order to protect her investment
from the fatal menace of dog poop.
It adds at least ten minutes to the process, but isn't that time
well spent when you're talking about a Dyson's life or death?!
What are your mommy fails that were tragic at the time, but
changed the way you do things and gave you a pee-your-pants funny story to
tell? Send your best fail story to
keesha@momsnewstage.com for a
chance to be featured at this most excellent venue!
