My kingdom for a (vacuum) hose

Posted by houndrat on Tuesday Jun 24, 2008 Under family life, husbands, kids

Is it just me, or are ants? some of the most disgusting creatures known to man?? Second, of course, to cockroaches.? I mean, I don’t mind seeing an ant here or there when I’m out and about.? And yes, I get that ants are amazing—they’re strong, organized, and cooperative.? In fact, they’d probably? fare better in the corporate world than most humans.? ? But there are rules.? And I draw the line when the little? bastards sneak? into my home for a morning snack.? Then, amazing or not, they must die.

So, I? stumble downstairs this morning, into the kitchen, and there they are.? Dozens and dozens of ants, crawling all over our counters, in our sink, on the floor, and on the sliding glass door, where they’ve apparently snuck in.? (By the way, my computer is telling me that “snuck” isn’t actually a word.? Are you kidding me?? Who the heck uses “sneaked”, anyway?)

Hubby was down here earlier this morning.? He keeps his keys and wallet on the kitchen counter.? Did he notice any ants?? Of course not.? Most hubbies, as you may have realized by now, have a great knack for tunnel-vision.? If it’s not a snack, a golf club,? or a completely unnecessary and useless electronic gadget, then it might as well be invisible.? Our phone conversation goes something like this:

Me:? “Um, honey, did you go into the kitchen this morning?”

Him:? “I think so.”? (See that?? He’s already hedging his bets—his “danger-meter” must be going off like crazy).

Me:? “Did you notice anything….strange?”

Him:? “Is this a trick question?”

Me:? “How about…did you notice the ANTS ALL OVER OUR KITCHEN COUNTER??”? (voice rising about a? hundred decibels)

Him:? “Ants??

Me:? “Yes. Ants.? You know,those little six-legged black insect things that like it when you leave PEANUT SHELLS ALL OVER THE FLOOR??” (Voice rising again, most likely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.? The ones that live three blocks away.)

Him:? “Peanut Shells?”

Sigh.? The next step, of course, is to kill the little suckers with my non-toxic dishwashing liquid and water spray.? That part, at least, goes as planned.

Then the clean up.? After wiping up as many dead bugs as I can possibly find (yum), I head to the garage(always a scary undertaking, at our house) for the vacuum.? I get super excited at first, because I could see the vacuum right off the bat.? For once, I thought, I’d escape from the garage unscathed.? No searching under totaled cars that should’ve been enjoying a view at the dumpster for the last year, no getting bombed by precariously balanced pieces of junk.? No getting blown up by fireworks.? Or eaten by a rat.?

I should have known better.? ? Because as? I get closer to the vacuum, I do a double take.? Something appears to be missing.? And in fact, something is missing—the hose.?

Now, I don’t claim to be a vacuum expert, nor do I play one on TV, but even my housecleaning-impaired brain is pretty sure that since we do not own a Dyson (nor any other vacuum from the twenty-first century, for that matter) the hose is a crucial element to getting that particular appliance to work.?

So, I call hubby again—I seem to remember he and my son playing with something which, in retrospect, may have resembled a vacuum hose while in the kiddie pool on Saturday.

Me:? “So, I found the vacuum, but there’s no hose.”

Him:? “Hose?”

Me:? “Yes, hose.? You know, the thing that actually makes the whole thing work?”

Him:? “Um.? I think maybe Connor was playing with it.”

Me:? “O-k-k-k-a-a-y.? So do you know where it is?”

Him:? “Um.? No.”

Me:? “Just for curiosity’s sake, do you think it’s a good idea to let our 4 yr old play with the parts to our major appliances?”

Him:? “Um.? No.? ? But he likes it.”

Me:? “He also likes to eat ice cream and candy and Oreos right before bed.? And smash things with a hammer.? Shall we let him do that?”

Him:? “Um.? No.? But maybe ask him where it is.? I haven’t seen it.”

Me:? “You mean, you haven’t seen it since he played with it?? Because obviously you saw it then.”

Him:? “Oh, yeah. ZZZShhhshZZZ (obviously man-made static noises).? Do you hear that static?? You’re cutting out.”

Double sigh.? So I ask my son where the vacuum hose is.? In fact, he does remember where he put it–on the floor of the garage.? Now, if this were your garage, maybe this is the point where you start jumping for joy, or singing “Whoomp, there it is!”, or whatever? ritual it is normal folks perform when they’ve located something in their garage,? knowing the hose would be in your vacuum-grasping hands at any moment.? But we’re talking our garage, where the word “normal” doesn’t even exist, home to a million pieces of junk, and that junk’s offspring.? And, of course, the occasional rat.

At any rate, I finally locate the vacuum hose.? It is, indeed, on the floor of the garage.? And I guess I can understand why hubby? couldn’t recall? seeing it.?

? Now, I think my son is amazing and gifted.? ? Really, I do.? But even I’m pretty sure that he didn’t heft up the pedal car, which I can barely lift, and? toss it right on top of the hose.? Nor, to the best of my knowledge,? did he suddenly grow about two feet and trade his training wheels in for an adult-sized ten-speed.? So, it begs the question—how did that hose get there?

I’d ask my hubby, but? I already know what his response would be.

? “Hose?”

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3 Responses to “My kingdom for a (vacuum) hose”

  1. Jill Says:

    Good one! Very funny.

  2. bonnie Says:

    At least your husband seems in good humor about it all. My dh is the same way, but when I call him on it he just gets pissed off and gets mad at me. For some reason.

  3. IdentityMixed Says:

    Love it!

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