I think I must have experienced some sort of a trauma with a vacuum cleaner when I was little. Some trauma that was so horrifying that I felt I had to repress it, because I have no idea of what it was that evidently must have happened. I can't explain it in any other way.



I feel relatively comfortable with doing the vacuuming myself. I guess that way I'm sort of in control and if the vacuuming should get out of hand, then at least I'm vaguely prepared. But having someone else doing it, especially without letting me know well in advance...I'd rather run off to lock myself up naked in a beehive until it's all over!

I hate the way it sounds. I hate the way it looks. Millions of pets can’t possibly be wrong! It must be the most aggressive of all domestic appliances! Why can’t anyone invent a silent vacuum cleaner? How hard can it be? Maybe one with a mechanism based on magnetism? Or laser beams? Or nuclear radiation?

There you go! I’ve done it! Now, until these things have been sorted out – go use a broom!

Brrr…………………………………………………………