The Real Pretend: Domestic Domination

I made my students write a short paper last week called "Ten things that are worse than_______." They had to start by picking a daily activity that they did not enjoy, and then describe ten other things that are even more terrible than that. As you can see, I really like to focus on the positive with my students. For my writing example, I wrote "Ten things that are worse than making my bed." Vacuuming made it onto the list. I described to the kids how I absolutely abhor vacuuming, because the vacuum is large and cumbersome, I always get too hot, emptying the vacuum is gross, and it takes forever plus a minute.

I vacuumed my house today [applause]. I was really dragging my heels about it, but then I tricked my brain into believing that I enjoy vacuuming. I realized that the new vacuum I bought over spring break really is quite fabulous, because it actually sucks up dirt with a vengeance. So I cruised around my living room, running over crumbs and clods like a maniac driver trying to hit pedestrians for points. "Got you, you little sucker!" I'd say. "Mwahahaha, you are no more!"

Basically, don't ever come to my house while I am vacuuming, because I will probably frighten you with my tactile plan of capturing the groadies lying on my floor. I'm like a vacuuming ninja.

I had previously thought that I hated emptying the dirt canister, because usually I get all dusty. But as I emptied it (twice) today, I realized what sort of magnificent satisfaction it offered. I had visible proof of my work, and I awed at how much nasty was actually sitting on my mostly-clean-looking carpet. Shaking out that collected dirt was better than popping an overly ripe zit. Both tasks are disgusting, but you know you feel satisfied when it's done.

I marveled at how easily the vacuum glided across the carpet, at how powerful the hose really was. I could suck up a loose hamster with that thing. Not that I ever would. I am against harming cute, cuddly pets. As I observed the air inside the see-through canister spinning rapidly, circulating that dirt and hair round and round with unending speed, I realized that the rapper of "move your body like a cyclone" was actually referring to his stellar Eureka vacuum, and not some slut on a pole.

I've got a cyclone in a canister and it is wreaking havoc on all the dirt in its wake. It's like the equivalent of Joplin, Missouri being spun into confusion. Only, you know, with tortilla chip houses and gray fuzz people.

When I completed my wrath, I dusted off the outside of my vacuum, like a soldier wiping blood from his sword. I put my weapon back in the closet and shut the door, a blade nested back into its sheath.