I just spent 20 minutes taking apart the vacuum, cleaning lots of thread and yard out of the roller bar, and finally noticing an adhesive label that had been stuck to the bottom inocuously, but had a much greater portion pulled back into the suction tube, only to have my vacuum continue to totally not suck. So I finally get our the screwdriver and take of the plate and reach in (ew…) and find something spongey and thick, a child’s sock? A pair of socks? Black… Aha! One spiderman glove. Part of me wants to make some sort of statement about how *I* would never accidentally vacuum up a glove and not notice, and I just know my husband used the vacuum last. But really, how does anybody vacuum up a glove and not notice?
But it would be rude to make such a statement in the same week that he finally went out and got his cash card, after handing me the credit card he’d been using in its stead so he wouldn’t keep cheating and avoid making a trip to the bank he’s been avoiding since Christmas. It seems wrong to play the bitch again when he’s sweetly agreed to start hanging his once used towels on the bathroom door instead of throwing them straight into the laundry. I hate the fights about what a nag I am and so does he, and I just love him to bits and pieces anyhow, so whatever. But still, a glove. It makes me wonder how much playmobil the vacuum has claimed in his hands.