Zuigerphobia

Today will forever be the day known as

the day Abrie got her hair caught in a vacuum.

Or, if you're Abrie,

the day my mom vacuumed up my hair.

It was a very traumatic incident for all involved parties; me, Abrie... the vacuum.

I know what you're thinking.

How, pray tell, does one get their hair caught in a vacuum?

It's quite simple actually.

We were cleaning her room and I was explaining to her that when I was her age my mom made me move everything to the middle of the floor and vacuum & dust all around the edges.

You know, one of those I-walked-to-school-bare-foot-in-the-snow-up-hill-both-ways kind of story.

So while she was on the other side of the bed picking up underneath

I began to vacuum on the other side.

You can see it all happening in slow motion now, can't you.

The vacuum made a terrible sound, the sound as if I had just vacuumed up a small child,

which was quickly followed by frantic screaming, "MOM! My hair, my HAIR. YOU VACUUMED UP MY HAIR!"

Turns out I did vacuum up a small child... or at least the hair of a small child.

That of course was followed by some profanities, of which I have since repented.

It was touch and go for a while there. It involved a lot of pulling; a lot of tugging; a lot of crying; but in the end it all came out alright- no cutting was necessary and scalp was still intact.

After it was all said and done Abrie asked me, "So Mom, did your Mom ever vacuum up your hair when you were my age?". My response? "Nope, I can't say she did. But she did make me clean out the toilet bowl with a wash cloth, by hand, with no gloves... barefoot, in the snow, up hill, both ways." And then I asked her if she wanted to climb under the bed again so I could finish vacuuming. She didn't think it was funny.

. . . . .