The Return of The Prodigal Dyson
I finally get it. It’s not about keeping up with the Joneses. But it is about keeping up with their appliances, which are infinitely superior to ours.
After spending a few days with my newly purchased Dyson Animal I have found myself sucked (sorry) into a spinning vortex of new-appliance longing. Because this thing, this beautiful, perfect thing, (the cheapest model of its class, mind you), is so far superior to our old Electrolux it brings a tear to my eye. It is as if I am in the presence of the divine. Or, at least, a purple, plastic, lesser deity.
I have, for the last three days, been vacuuming recreationally. I have vacuumed where normally I would nap, or enjoy a cup of tea, or peruse the latest New Yorker. I have vacuumed and re-vacuumed, then vacuumed again: floors, rugs, chairs, window sills, my bed, my desk, the air. I have seriously considered vacuuming the dog. (I didn’t, only because I learned that Dyson makes a special head for this purpose. Far be it from me to approach such an undertaking with the wrong appurtenance. But look out, Mina. Your day is coming!)
My suspicions have been confirmed: Those other appliances the Joneses have that I still do not? The Mieles, Wolfs, Vikings, Sub Zeros, et al? They are as amazing as I suspect. They would make cooking/washing/drying more pleasurable, graceful, easy, eloquent, meditative, and even musical. Owning them would bring, if not joy, then at least massive satisfaction. Our current appliances would look like pathetic, rattling relics in contrast. Because, let’s face it, they are. I’ll go further. They suck. They suck hard. So hard that, if they were a vacuum, they’d run circles around a Dyson. But they’re not. They are a lame, spray-painted furnace of a stove, a Victorian-era douser of a dishwasher, a lumbering fabric-hater of a washer/dryer. And my days of celebrating their quirkiness, their “vintageness,” their good-old-fashioned “quality” are over. From now on I will cast away my rose-colored glasses and see these items for what they are: clumsy, inept, off-colored dinosaurs to be replaced at the earliest opportunity. Probably never. But, hey, one can dream.
My husband, on the other hand? He likes the Dyson fine. He admires its traits. He is glad we got it. But when I suggested throwing away the Electrolux? He looked at me like I was insane.
“No way! Someone on Craig’s List will want that.”
The crazy thing is, he’s right.
But it won’t be me.