You Can Hire Me, Bring Me Back After a Session

During this - our time of financial recalibration - we've found it necessary to cut back and cut back some more. This has offered us a chance to revisit our priorities and to better understand ourselves as consumers of the vast array of options modern American have vying for their dollars.

Put another way - we see who we really are by what we continue to spend our money on versus what we're willing to do without.

For example:  I'm not willing to give up my nightly glass of wine or occasional beer. Make of that what you will. On the flipside, I am willing to stick my hand into the full vacuum bag, pulling out clumps of cat hair, bits of random things, dirt, dust, and the occasional dried Tootsie Roll of cat poo festooned with litter and feathers.  I can never figure out where the feathers come from.  They're indoor cats.

I figure, why keep buying vacuum cleaner bags when all I'm going to do is throw them away?  Recycle, reuse, repurpose. That's my motto and I'm sticking to it.

I admit knowing that in a week or two, I'll be pulling my shirt up over my face to protect my lungs from the dust particles and rummaging inside the bag to dislodge its contents has made me a bit careless when I wield my magic sucking wand.  Oh, shoot!  I only meant to get the hairs out of that drawer, I didn't mean to suck up that cloth headband.  Oh, well, I'll retrieve it when I clean out the bag.  I can wash it and it'll be good as new.

So yesterday, the vacuum was behaving rather sluggishly while we did our dance around the living room.  I cut the power and hefted it off the floor.  Yeah, it was getting pretty full.  I dragged it to the ceremonial emptying garbage can and tugged my shirt up over my nose in preparation for the job.

Out came the usual suspects.  Cat hair in massive, gray clumps, horrifying dust, part of a pencil, a Q-tip, bingo! my headband, more hair and dust.  And hello!  What's this?

Nathan just happened to walk by as I held up the little surprise that waited, buried deep within the bowels of my beloved vacuum.

"What's this?"  My shock was real.

He looked at the object, then back at me and laughed nervously.  "Don't you know?"

"Whose condom is this?"  I held it, flattened and dusty, between my thumb and forefinger.  It flapped like a yellowish, ribbed-for-her-pleasure flag in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

"Not mine!"

"Whose condom am I holding in my hand?"

Crickets and the batting of his long eyelashes and finally.  "I said it's not mine!"

"And how did it get into the vacuum cleaner?"

"Does it really matter?"

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose he's right.

Happy weekend, lovers.  Careful where you put your condoms.