I told my husband... I'll admit I whined to my husband... "I want, I need, I MUST have a new vacuum cleaner!"
His usual answer, "With what money?"
Yes, we were newlyweds. Yes, we were broker than Citibank. I hated that stupid vacuum. I really did. I would say, "It sucked!" - but, that's the problem, it didn't suck! Ahhh... such is life. Balancing our wants from our needs. But, thus, here is one perfect time when my imperfection worked to my advantage.
I was vacuuming (a rare sport for me) our ragged, one-bedroom, basement apartment. My "non-sucking" vacuum was humming along as I pushed, prodded, pleaded, and prayed. "Lord," I prayed, "give me strength. Give me victory over this beast."
God answered my prayer in the form of my panties. Not exactly Moses and the burning bush! I was maneuvering the beast behind our king-sized, 1970s-style, funkified water bed when I heard the shriek that was both frightening and freeing.
"Oh crud," I thought, "I killed it!"
I heard even more commotion before I could get the blasted beast turned off. I flipped it over, trying to find the lose piece of yarn (I don't knit) or the spare blade of straw (we didn't have sheep). I could smell a faint scent of something burning, like a wiener past its prime. I quit vacuuming and waited for Steve.
The first thing out of his mouth was, "Did you burn the beans and weenies again?" (Like I said, we were poor, and like I did not say, I was the worst cook ever).
"It's the vacuum," I mumbled. "I can't figure out what's burning."
He took it apart, piece by ugly piece. Up in the hose was a pair of my favorite tiger-print undies. They were ripped, charred, and slightly burned. Ruined!
"You did this on purpose!" he exclaimed.
"Did not!" I retorted.
Well... that day was much like a wedding, when a family loses a son but gains a daughter. Only I lost undies and gained a new vacuum. Fair trade.