Tuesday, 26 June 2007

Note to Alien Wally…

We need a new vacuum cleaner.

No, it’s not that the old one is broken. It’s just that, when you live in a rented flat, sometimes you have to live with things that are… well, let’s just say, things that you wouldn’t buy yourself. And one of these things is the vacuum cleaner that came with Alien Wally and Mags’ flat – a lovely heavy upright beastie that makes Mags feel like a 50s Stepford wife whenever she uses it. She’s convinced that it was designed by a sadist who wanted people to suffer… “buwahaha… you think housework is a drudge? You ain’t seen nothing yet… buwahaha!”

Mags tried to put a positive spin on it. Think of the biceps, you’ll develop, she told herself. Except, well, now her right arm looks like Popeye’s and her left like Olive Oyl’s. Ambidextrous she is not. To stop the nagging show how much he cared, Alien Wally valiantly took over the task. Except, well, he’s since developed a mysterious shoulder strain.

So now, until Mags and Alien Wally can summons up the energy for what they know will surely be an exciting shopping trip (ooo, vacuum cleaners, ooo…), they only vacuum sporadically. Like when the Pringles crumbs have piled up and they can no longer find the couch. Like today, when Mags gave in to the dirt. Nothing sucks like Electrolux, and Mags would just like you all to know that it did indeed suck. Big time.

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