Our vacuum. This antiquated appliance came with our rental here in Bermuda. The front of the machine proudly states "Since 1914." I think I have the prototype model. I feel as though I should be cranking the thing to start it. But, hey, it works...after a fashion...if I have a small pile of tiny specks of dust conveniently arrayed in front of it. I wouldn't think of asking it to over extend itself to vacuum up, say, dog hairs. Remember the Saturday Night Live show with the vacuum that the Czech Brothers had brought with them from Czechloslovakia? They had to pour dirt into the vacuum for it to "work." Mine is very much like that.

Interesting how people's perspectives on "how-dirty-can-the-house-be-before-I-scream" are so different. Eric, for example, will tolerate a modest amount of dog hairs on the floor. I, on the other hand, don't feel particularly compelled to vacuum until the dog hair is ankle deep. I can also sleep soundly at night even though I know that there are mysterious lumps wrapped in aluminum foil dying a slow death in the back of the refrigerator. When the food is really dead, I'll throw it out...and not a moment before!