I may be the first person to get rid of her spice rack and replace it with a vacuum cleaner, but that's how yesterday went.
We knew our old vac was on it's way out--THAT DOG sheds her weight in fur on a weekly basis, and for the past few months, our forays into housekeeping have involved shoving abandoned dog hair into new piles, while the machine emitted a high-pitched squeal of protest like a car left to long in second gear. Our vacuum cleaner had no gears (that we knew of) so we just shoved the piles around dutifully and hoped for the best.
Then came the burning smell, and that was all she wrote.
Last night we went out and bought a new vacuum cleaner (which was rather ironic, given that I'd spent the afternoon reading the rantings of an irate feminist who hates, hates, hates the idea that any woman would ever be excited about a new household appliance...) We got home and immediately tested it out on the small runner we installed so THAT DOG could get some traction (hardwood floors seem like a great idea until you watch your pet slide into the wall with a thud for the 47th time...) The new machine has one of those clear canisters on the front, so we could see what it was picking up.
Oh. My. Gosh. Horrifying.
"You should take a picture of this for your blog!" Steve said, staring incredulously at the contents of our new vacuum.
"No way!" I responded. "I'm not telling the whole world we've been living in a giant pile of dirt..."