My vacuum cleaner just growled at me. Growled. And not because she's on her last leg. She's not. She's a good girl. A young Oreck XL, courtesy of one very intuitive mother-in-law. I think tonight she'd just had it. After running her through the dining room, living room, kitchen, entry way, and bathroom (yep, that's why we have an Oreck) I think she just had to say, "Really, lady? It's ninety freakin' degrees in here. You're just as pissed as I am that we have to be doing this after the kids are in bed!! Wrap my cord up, for cryin' out loud, put me in the dang closet, and sit your tail down in front of the fan!" That's exactly what her growl meant. So that's exactly what I did.
(And, no, Dear Husband, it was not a worrisome sound. She's in no danger.) We love our vacuum almost as much as we love our children. It's actually because of our children that we love her so much, so that makes it less weird.
Reasons # 1, 2, and 3 why we love (and NEED) our Oreck:
See? Don't they just look messy!
And don't even get me started on this girl! I thought Gizmo was going to be the death of me. Ladybug is just as quick and dangerous to herself--only she's quiet! She was alone in our bedroom (which is actually an enclosed, second-floor, front porch) for less than a minute and she'd pushed the window open, popped the screen out, and was leaning out watching traffic go by. Yeah. That's what I've got to face every day. Imminent Danger. Every single day. My stomach turns just thinking about the trouble she will continue to get herself into.
