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Like many, I am a bundle of rituals.

Like many, I am a bundle of rituals. In the evening, I first check on my mother snoring on the couch, and tuck her in. And no funny stuff whatsoever, in case you are wondering. Well, that’s not exactly true, since Scruffy always gives her a bit of a lick goodnight and she always smiles in her sleep. Probably dreaming that Uncle Claude is shoving his tongue down her throat. He must be at an away game with the wife behind door number one.
Then I empty the ashtrays, wash up the glasses and even when I’m vacuuming the place, she never wakes up. Scruff considers the vacuum a being from Hades sent to suck up his soul, as represented by his fur. His solution is to stay one step ahead. He knows the routine, so he is always hiding at the next place I go. So he’s convinced it’s pursuing him. There’s a moral there somewhere.
The vacuum is brand new from Santa Claude, but it disappears the sand that constantly blows in our doors and windows and settles on everything. If you were like, an ad executive for this thing, which slogan would you use? Our vacuum sucks? Or our vacuum doesn’t suck? It’s a conundrum.
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