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Dust mystifies me. The dictionary defines dust as “fine, pulverized particles of matter and, especially, earth.” The definition continues that dust is “something worthless” (we all knew that) and a “state of humiliation.”
Now, when I go for a dictionary, I’m looking for facts, undisputable facts from a well-respected source. I do not, however, allow such a source to make value judgments on my lifestyle.
Dust isn’t humiliating, but it is awfully bothersome. When you start kicking the dust balls over the couch for extra points, it’s time to find the vacuum, which has been missing a few weeks longer than the maid.
The vacuum, wherever it is, will suck up the dust with no problem. But Nana’s old vacuum is helpless to combat the growing number of cob webs and pizza boxes.
And I would really like to find out who owns that old sweatshirt.
Even the laws of the laundromat forbid me from washing the thing in their commercial machine. It could make a good dust cloth, if such a thing was needed.
But what I really need is something to wipe away the cob webs and pizza boxes and newspapers. In lieu of that, I’d take back the maid, wherever she is.
Maybe I should look for biker groups.
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