The Vaccum That Was

I'm not going to say that I had a profound relationship with my vacuum cleaner. It wasn't a spectacular vacuum, or even a particularly expensive one. But we did have an understanding, my vacuum and I. It did a reasonably good job of vacuuming the cat hair up and I repayed the favor by not overexerting it's vacuuming capabilities. AKA, I didn't vacuum all that often.

But a vacuum is something that you occasionally need. Sometimes, you just can't avoid it and life without a vacuum can be pretty rough indeed. So I had no bones about letting someone borrow it when my unfortunate, vacuum-less friend, asked.

That was three months ago. To this day, I don't know what has become of that vacuum, or my "friend."

I've called, left voicemail after voicemail, and emailed. I've yet to get a response at all. The boy and I have even stopped at her house, her car plainly in the driveway, and knocked. We've never gotten an answer.

Finally, a breakthrough the other night: I called her cell from a work line that she didn't know the number to. And she answered! Second ring. She was surprised to hear from me, I can tell you that. But she wasn't phazed a bit. Almost as if she had a script in front of her, the excuses came pouring out:

"I ran out of minutes on my cell phone and couldn't call you back!"
"I must have been in the shower when you came over" ... all three times?
"Of course I still have your vacuum! It's in my garage! I'll be home all day Saturday. Call me then and we'll arrange something."

Now, why I believed her, I still don't know. But I did.

Well, loyal readers. Saturday has come and gone, here on the east coast. Do I have my vacuum? ummm, no. Has she answered her phone at all today? ummm, no. Was she home like she claimed? ummm, NO! Imagine that.

Friends since we were 5, sworn enemies since a vacuum came between us. I always figured it would be something normal, like a guy or a major political difference or a nuclear war that would force us to part ways. But, alas. It was a Hoover.

Damn.