Some years ago, about the time Carolyn's eyesight started to get bad, she discovered I liked vacuuming. Since she couldn't see how bad I was at it, and I had the opportunity to buy a machine that did something I would otherwise have to do by hand, it was a win win. Since then, pretty much every Saturday, I've had a date with a purple and red (Linfield colors!) Dyson to mitigate construction dust and cat dander. Vacuuming had the additional benefit of completely freaking out the cats so I've been pretty much guaranteed a cat-free afternoon simply by rolling the purple and red monster out of the closet. It's been a steady, reliable machine over the last seven years. It's had a few scrapes. OK, the handle broke off. Carrying it upstairs is like wrestling an unhappy toddler out of a shopping cart. So maybe it's not in the best of shape. Then there was the bee thing. All those sucked up honey bees from the wood stove exacted one last act of vengance on me by
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