My beloved Dyson vacuum cleaner almost bit the dust last night, so to speak. I know consumer goods aren't supposed to make you happy, but the sleek design, bold color, and raw power of the Dyson really appeal to me. I do most of our household vacuuming, since the Dyson is a handful and J doesn't have a surplus of upper-body strength. She's run a marathon and I could barely manage a 5k, but I'm better at taming the awesome heft and power that is the Dyson. It's got more kick than a 12 gauge double-barrel shotgun. It's like piloting a jet fighter off the deck of an aircraft carrier catapult. No, it's more like riding a mighty untamed stallion bareback. OK, I'm exaggerating just a little.

Last night, J took a turn at vacuuming, and lost her grip while carrying the Dyson down the stairs. It crashed to the floor, a plastic piece came off, and it took serious damage where the canister attaches to the frame. When I reattached the canister, it wouldn't come off again, something was messed up in the latch mechanism. After an hour or so of playing around with it, and performing a little surgery on a damaged plastic part, I got it working again. For awhile there it looked as if we'd have to go buy another one, which at $400 was not a prospect we relished. If worse came to worse, I would have bought a Hoover or other "regular" vacuum for a fraction of the Dyson's price, but it would have made me very sad. I would have been like the middle aged guy who pines away for the sports car of his youth, while currently driving a minivan.

Fortunately, it seems to work fine with the one piece missing and another part hacked off with wire cutters so that the latch can close. J felt really bad at first, because she knows how much I love the Dyson, but feels better now. For the next few days, though, J has to sleep in the guest room, while the Dyson gets tucked in securely next to me at night. Just kidding on that part.