A few years back, when I found myself shopping for a new vacuum cleaner, I fell in love. No, not with the salesclerk. With the Dyson vacuum. Dh, jealous I suppose, insisted we should buy a canister vacuum instead. A war broke out in the household appliance department of my local store. Even the salesclerk (whom I didn’t love but appreciated for trying) tried to get my man to see reason. “Who does the vacuuming?” she asked him. Dh admitted I was the Chief Housecleaner (a title I do not aspire to on my best day). “Then she should get the vacuum she wants.”

Bless that woman’s heart. She tried. Really. But when it comes to my dh, he has an opinion whether the item being purchased affects him or not. And the more options he’s presented with, the more indecisive he becomes. (You should have seen him with our wedding invitations! On second thought, it’s probably best you weren’t there to witness that maelstrom of confusion.)

We wound up leaving the store with neither vacuum, barely speaking to one another. A few days later, as a show of apology (or affection or just plain stupidity…take your pick) dh came home with a brand new vacuum cleaner for me. The canister.

Well, it’s two years later now and the warranty has expired so, naturally, as I predicted, the canister no longer has any strong suction, I hate the fact the bags fill up so quickly, and I struggled with the blasted thing for hours just to get the carpets in relatively decent shape for Thanksgiving.

And then my little holiday miracle arrived in the mail in the form of a postcard. My dearest daughter works retail for a national store chain. And her store notified us of a private Dyson event for “sales associates” which began yesterday. I gave dh the ultimatum. I was getting my Dyson whether he liked it or not. So immediately after work yesterday, I picked up my darling girl at school and whisked her to the store. In ten minutes I had my Dyson in hand and paid half price for the beautiful machine. It now has a place of honor in my walk-in closet and my heart goes pitter-pat every time I pass by.

Sometimes, it’s the little things in life that matter most. Or maybe the moral is Good things come to those who wait.

In any event, the great Dyson Christening is this weekend. I’ll let you know how it goes.