What I Did For Love: The Tale of The Vacuum Cleaner Hose

UPDATE: He said he could deal with the ponytail - just not the pink hat. Men.

I got my ponytail caught in the vacuum cleaner hose.

This is what it looked like when it was still attached to my head.

I am not amused.
Why is Queen Mimi vacuuming in the first place, you may ask? Here's the dirt.

My Prince and I will embark on another grand adventure in a few days when we begin our vacation. First stop. Bloggingham Palace.

It was poor planning on my part to give the servants the day off.

What was I thinking?!

There was no one to rescue me. Not a phone within reach. Just me and the evil vacuum cleaner. It was possessed I tell you!

I was alone and in danger.

Prince Charming does not understand this concept. He lives in the city. I live in a cozy writer's bungalow in the middle of three acres of trees. The closest neighbor is an acre away. Granted, they shut the windows and curse when I practice an Italian aria on the front porch but you'd think they could tell the difference between that and a woman screaming H-e-E-L-L-L-P while her hair gets sucked into the vacuum cleaner.
Maybe not.

Strange are the thoughts of a woman on the verge of being scalped.
Will he still love me with a bob cut?
How much do I really need my left ear?

It's all my fault. If only I'd pulled my hair through the back of the Yankees cap today. But it was at the cleaners. Will anyone think to pick up my dry cleaning?
Wonder if the vacuum will still be running when I'm dead and the paramedics get here in three days to take me to the morgue. No lipstick either.


I did hear a couple of ducks quack near the pond but I think they were mating....which is more than I can say for my sad little life if I don't disengage myself from this machine. Surely even Mr. Toadwinkle in the next Grove of Nowhere can see there are bubbles floating from the chimney. Oh. I forgot to tell you about the bubbles.

It was not a pretty day at the Palace.

First I was attacked by a can of carpet cleaner. The instructions clearly read "Spray a thin, even layer of foam on a 3 ft.square area. Hold can upside down." Not one to believe in that silly less-is-more philosophy, I thought thicker would be faster and more efficient. Foam. Finally something I understand - bubbles.


I sprayed a little. It's not working. I need more....that's what I always do when the bubbles aren't bubbly enough in the bath.....I just wish I hadn't turned the can in the opposite direction when I saw a lost earring and got distracted. My rousing rendition of "I Will Survive" would have tasted so much better without the chemicals.

Making mental note: Spray can Foam scientifically and exponentially multiples. Great! Now I needed a bath. I just didn't expect to get one right then.

Before the hose became my personal friend, we got along famously. I'd sensually slithered into rubber gloves and loud music. Brewed a pot of coffee. Donned my crown. Turned off my computer and began my Queenly cleaning. I rummaged through drawers, actually found the bottom of the closet floor, threw out tax returns from the seventies and organized my jewelry box.

And that's when I saw it.

 A box of Godiva just out of my reach. No problem. I can fit. I don't remember this mattress being so low ....and why are there wooden slats on the carpet. Aren't they supposed to be holding up the bed? During the thirty minutes it took to get back out I had a lovely time.

I discovered that dust particles had grown into villages under my bed. Someone stashed a Christmas gift that was never opened. Wouldn't you know it? I have time to open it now and it's not for me.

Chemically induced lack of oxygen brings spiritual moments.

 I had to face the truth.

In four days, 32 hours, 75 minutes and 40 seconds my Prince will be here (he put a countdown ticker on his website to remind me to clear my calendar those days)- and I can't cook. My best dish is bagels and cream cheese. He will have to eat more than that. So I alphabetically memorized my grocery list. 
A: Take-Out menu.

That was easy.

And he will have to get used to my driving. Mimi Pencil Skirt does not have Hamied-The-Friendly-Cabbie on call 24/7. She does not speed dial four-star restaurants, have her socks washed and pressed by total strangers or hobnob with celebrities on a daily basis. 

I had plenty of time to think about Prince and our relationship.....no, not THAT Prince... Does he know I get into trouble everywhere I go? Have I made that perfectly clear? Can he live with my Nacrophobia (fear of nail-breaking)?
What will he say when he arrives to see half of my pencil skirt sticking out from under the bed?
Luckily, I found a leftover bottle of tranquilizers just under the Fabulous Forties magazine. It was empty.

So I ate all the chocolate.

And now this pulsating playboy catches me -and my ponytail- off guard. Red-faced with that cute little blush, he'd been trying to have a personal relationship with my pants leg all day; wielding wildly and amorously about as only a full upright can do. As you can see, he lied about his height. I should have stopped the nonsense then. It was apparent he was only after my ponytail.

How did I know? I'd never been in such a relationship before. I didn't even know how to turn it on before yesterday! And now it's taken the very best of me. What a player. What a day. What a mess.

As soon as Jezebel The Maid returns I'm going to give her a raise.

Which brings me back to the reason I started all this pesky cleaning in the first place. A new relationship. A new adventure. A great guy. You're right, Mimi. He IS a great guy. And understanding. He won't mind that what's left of your hair smells like OxyCleaner. He never said a word when you got lost in Manhattan and thought you were in New Jersey, now did he? He knows you would never use the kind of language the dust villagers heard when you broke the third nail unless you were trying to do something nice for him in the first place. And did he balk when you called him at 2am because you lost your cheesecake in the airport? No. Of course not.

I'd better go get that cap out of the cleaners. I'm gonna need a cover for this story. And for my head. I wonder if he'd believe I joined a cult.....