I am in love

His name is James Dyson...and yeah, I mean that James Dyson.  Well, actually, it's not even James Dyson.  It's his vacuum.  We are in the initial stages of our romance and I am positively giddy.

People talk about how dirty their houses are and I always know, with absolute certainty, that mine is worse.  I think they don't believe me when I say that I have tumbleweeds of dog hair blowing through the house, but I do, and here's the proof.

These

and these

are everywhere!

And here's the culprit.  Her name is Emma, she's fourteen, and she usually looks like a rat has been chewing on her.  She has terrible arthritis and she moves about as fast as a slug on a sidewalk.  Until you get the brush out, that is, and then you should see that dog go.

I even found this little bird's nest (it was on the ground, people, and the egg is just a shell I found) one year made with her hair.

To date, I have been losing the battles AND the war.  I go through vacuums like Elizabeth Taylor went through husbands.  I can vacuum the living room rug, fill the canister from just that one rug, and two hours later it's covered again.  She's like Pigpen from the Peanuts with an ever-present cloud around her.  Plus my vacuum stinks like wet dog when it's running and the filter is clogged with dog dander and hair.  Emptying the canister is not for the faint of heart or those with weak stomachs.  It's a filthy, sneezy job and just plain gross.

Dyson commercials are porn for a woman like me with a house full of dog hair.  I breathe hard and lick my lips, knowing it is an unrequited love because I will never be able to afford one.  So imagine my delight when I found a Dyson DC07 at Sprouse's last week.  $30.  Shut up.  I know.  I put it in my car and locked the doors like I was in charge of a Brink's security truck.  I had treasure on board.

Looks just like my fella!

I brought my handsome yellow companion home and immediately began exploring his physical features.  Part of it was the lust of a new love, but mostly it was because there was no manual.  We are four days into this relationship and I am already certain that I can never love another vacuum.  Two main reasons.  Shall I tell you what they are?

First, the hose.  You don't have to disconnect anything or close up anything that was connected to something else.  You just push a button, lift the handle, and you are instantly using the freakin' hose!  It was a little difficult because the hose is not too terribly long and the suction is so strong that it wants to keep the hose pulled in tight, but I was willing to overlook that because of the "instant use" feature.  Two days later, I was pushing the limits to try and reach some distant dust...and lo and behold, there is a long wand inside the hose that extended to easily snatch that dust.  And suddenly the hose didn't seem to be such a shrinking violet anymore, either.

Second?  The canister.  OMG, the canister!  I think I have already mentioned what a filthy, revolting, disgusting job it was to empty the canister on my other vacuums.  My nose wrinkles just thinking about it.    So...time to empty the canister on the Dyson.  Now remember, I have no manual.  And I am either too stupid or too stubborn to look it up online.  I can figure this out.  How hard can it be, right?  Sooooo...  I push a button and voila, the canister pops free of the vacuum like a wine cork leaving the bottle (yum.)  I give  the top a twist...no joy.  Aha...there is another little button on the side of the canister.  I depress the button and again I try to twist off the top.  Nada.  I push, I prod, I cajole, I beg...nothing.  Then suddenly, the hinged bottom of the canister swings down and empties the dirt in a pile on the floor.  I cannot tell you how excited I was.  What a clever design.  No muss, no fuss...except for the pile that I just dumped on the floor...but who cares?  It's genius, I tell you!

James Dyson, you are my hero.  I think I'll go have a glass of wine in your honor.  Right after I vacuum the rug again...