Last night I was sweeping the floor. After weeks of looking for my sweeper bags and never finding them only to go buy some, I finally had the 10 minutes I needed to sweep the floor. I should mention that weeks ago I was angry with my sweeper for not sucking up the dirt I ran it over. I assumed it was a full sweeper bag, so I got rid of the full bag and the saga began.
As I was saying, last night I was sweeping. We have wood floors so the task is usually pretty quick. I noticed that in the foyer the little winter rocks that came in on our shoes were not being picked up as easily as I remember. And in the living room I noticed that the machine didn't sound as loud as I remember. I could hear Abigail stomping and screaming in frustration over the voice of the vacuum. Then in the dining room I had to remove the floor piece and get the crayon papers and random fuzz with the hose. Needless to say I was becoming frustrated. But I would never ever stomp and scream in my frustration. Not me! I am above that.
So I drug the sweeper through the dining room, through the living room where incidentally Abigail was still frustrated and taking it out on her doll, and through the foyer. Finally we arrived in the kitchen with dried bits of shredded cheese under the table. I asked Chris to check on Abigail and by the time he solved her problem and came back to the kitchen I was stomping and screaming at the vacuum cleaner. Threatening to blow it up and talking about how very worthless this very expensive appliance was. I stopped just short of banging the hose and hard floor attachment off the floor.
Chris because of his deep affection for me and not for the salvation of the sweeper proceeded to take it apart to figure out just how this machine wasn't working. Finally he determined that the hose was clogged. Perhaps now is a good time to mention that I have a vacuum theory: if it fits in the hose it should go to the bag. As Chris began filling the hose with water to try to flush the offending mass out, I became more than a little worried racking my brain for what I could possibly have sucked up that could cause this problem. We filled and drained slowly. We filled and nothing happened until the hose burped. Out came water mixed with a largish linguine noodle and a small hairball. We filled and out came some leaves and yarn and fuzz. Nothing that could cause this problem, but enough that with every expulsion I got the look. You know the one that says "What were you thinking?" We filled the hose and it puked this time. One little thing, the culprit, the lid to a hairspray bottle. With that the hose was clean and I had to honestly answer the look. "I think if it is trash and fits in the nozzle it should go into the bag."
Chris just shook his head and gently reminded me to be careful and pay attention to what I am expecting the sweeper to swallow. Maybe he has given up. Whatever the case I must admit that I've got quite a man.