Yesterday I stopped at a vacuum cleaner store to buy some new bags.  Our last bag has been filled to the brim for awhile now, and Mona (the woman who cleans our house) told me it was REALLY time for a fresh bag.  As soon as I walked into the store, I realized I probably should have written down the model of our vacuum.  For a minute, I thought about going home to check it out, then thought "No, how hard can this be." 

This shop is in kind of an older building, and is made up of several narrow rooms that stretch all the way to the back of the building.  From the front door, I could see all the way through the rooms into the alley.  The front room is apparantly used to store dead or almost dead vacuum cleaners.  The second room is used for retired and completely broken sewing machines.  There's a tiny counter with almost room to write a check if you can use your leg to balance your purse on it so you have a place to rest your arm.  Then, behind that I could sort of make out what looks like a junkyard filled with crap.

So I got all the way into the second room, before a guy who must moonlight as Santa during the holidays came out and asked me what I needed.  I told him I needed refill bags for my Kirby vacuum, but that's as much as I know.

Vacuum Santa: What color is it?
Me: I don't know.  Gray?
Vacuum Santa: Dark gray or light gray?
Me: I don't know.  It's a year old, does that help?
Vacuum Santa: Is this dark gray? (pointing to a vacuum)
Me: Yeah, I guess so.
Vacuum Santa: So does it look like this or like that one? (pointing to another vacuum)
Me: I really don't know.  Can I bring back bags if they don't fit?  If so, I'll take two kinds.
Vacuum Santa: You must know what color your vacuum is.  Close your eyes and pretend you're vacuuming. 
Me: Sorry, I can't remember.  I'll take this one. (turning to the counter and opening my wallet)
Vacuum Santa: Any of these bags will work if yours is less than two years old.

Here's where I gave him the eye slap (you know, the narrowing of the eyes that says "I'd smack you, but that would be rude") and clenched my mouth shut.  I mean, we went through that whole thing even though any of them would work?  Thanks Vacuum Santa for making me feel stupid because I don't know what color my vacuum is.  I don't know because I don't vacuum, OK?  It's bad enough that on the very rare occasion I do take it out Martin says to me, "Momma, don't break that.  It's Mona's."  It continued.

Vacuum Santa: Do you need any belts?
Me: I don't think so.  I'll just take these bags.
Vacuum Santa: You should change your belts every six months, you know.  You should be at least on your third by now.  How many have you changed?
Me: None that I know of.  Thanks, see you later.  Enjoy the weather!

Great.  One more thing to add to the list of things I never remember to do but should.  Maybe I'll add this to the list of things I've made Marty responsible for in our marriage.  The things I can never remember to do like changing the oil in my car and flipping the mattress.

I sure hope the belt on the vacuum cleaner doesn't go out for awhile.  Or at least until enough time passes so Vacuum Santa no longer remembers me.  The woman who doesn't vacuum... the one he warned.