It Sucks

When I first moved into my tin shack a month ago I went to K-Mart, where discriminating and sophisticated people like myself are wont to shop (hey, it ain't Wal-Mart), and picked up a little vacuum cleaner. I chose the cheapest, most basic one they had, because my little shelter is very small, there's not any storage space to speak of, and I didn't think I needed anything heavy duty.

But that was a mistake. It was a pseudo-vacuum cleaner. It did not suck. And the first time I tried to empty it, the clip holding the dirt cup onto the fuselage broke and that was the end of it.

So I took it back, and for thirty bucks more got something that looks like an electric dragster and sounds like a Boeing 737 taxiing onto the tarmac. It picks up everything except the floor itself. The only problem with it is I don't know where I'll put it.

I can't believe how much better I feel now the floor is clean. Sometimes things can bother people without their being aware of what the trouble is, and it was just that way -- I didn't know why I was feeling so lousy. The fact is, when I have crunchy floors and rugs full of scruff, it just bothers the hell out of me.