The Vacuum

I suck.

I suck dirt, lint, small particles; anything that fits into my nozzle I’ll suck into my belly. I’m great at it. My mistress loves me. You should hear the way she goes on about me when guests come over. It usually starts with the guests commenting over how spotless my mistress’s home looks. She’ll wave this off with a flutter of her refined hand and smile mysteriously. The guests will then walk about the rooms cooing about how everything is just so. Then they’ll come to it: the white, cashmere Persian rug; the one with the demure gold flowers, very simple, and decidedly elegant. I always take extra care with it.

They’ll stop, mesmerized by the beauty of it. My mistress will tell them that it’s been in the family for generations. They’ll look up at her stunned and stammer: “But…but…how do you keep it looking so new?” To which my mistress will reply with a light laugh, “Oh I just vacuum it once a week.” Sometimes she’ll take me out of my special room and show me off. The guests usually look at me with more than a glint of admiration and some will stroke my nozzle, which always sends shivers down my hose.

I like the attention. Who doesn’t like being admired for their work? Especially when they’re good at it. But lately I’ve been having moments. I’ve started to wonder if there’s more to life than inhaling bits of rubbish off the floor. Sometimes while reclining in my room, I hear guests talking about the exciting places they’ve been to: Paris, New Jersey, Prague. They talk of climbing up mountains, sliding down mountains, swimming in azure waters, and being chased by wild animals. I wonder what that would be like, and I sometimes spend hours imagining myself roaring after a lion, showing him who’s master of the kingdom. Then I’m off to Paris, charmed by its quaint bistros and patisseries filled with decadent cakes that fragrant the sidewalk. As much fun as these daydreams are they always leave me sad. I long to ride out on adventure and see the world, be the hero.

But I can never leave my mistress. She needs me. What would happen to the Persian without me? It would be disgraceful. No, I cannot go jaunting about the world. I have responsibilities. I’m needed. My place is here. Isn’t it?

 

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “The Vacuum

  1. Oh, I’d love to see the vacuum cleaner clean the carpets at Versailles. She’d be delighted!

Comments are closed.