He’s such a smug little bastard…
I have this real feeling of hatred for my hoover. I’m not sure whether this is normal, or whether it’s a sign of a very slow mental decline. But honestly, the bloody thing is the bane of my life. He’s old and knackered and there is just something about him that freaks me out– with his inane grinning face and large staring eyes.
I mean, who honestly thought putting a face on hoover was such a great idea? It doesn’t improve suction (as I’m sure many a teenage boy will confirm) and it certainly doesn’t make it go around corners any better. Instead, it just stands there in my hall with its red fat shiny belly, smiling stupidly at me, its wide eyes following me around the room. Smug little bastard!
I wouldn’t mind if it did the job I wanted it do, but It’s like a useless work experience kid. One tug and it falls over pathetically, its bloody wheels spinning hopelessly in the air, like the fuckwit it is. Lying there like a stranded red whale on my carpet, making a wheezing similar to my Dad when he gets up too quickly from his chair.
He bumps into the corners (the hoover, not my Dad – although come to think of it….) and he refuses to suck up the smallest of crumbs. Yet he is quite happy to gobble up my earring and look bloody pleased about it too, leaving me for hours, searching in his sooty guts to retrieve it. Bastard.
And even more annoying, his bloody nose has fallen off more times than Michael Jackson’s. He has gaffer tape around it now, so he looks even more freaky (the hoover not Michael Jackson, although come to think of it…)
I long to trade in this old bugger for something newer. Or something more slim-line and zippier. Maybe something that doesn’t come complete with a moronic smiling face.
But I can’t. Why? Because my kids love him. They treat him like part of the family. It would be like getting rid of the cats, and believe me I’ve tried that. Twice.
So for now, I’m stuck with him.
Smug little bastard