Cult of Domesticity

I may have joined a cult.

At first, I wasn't sure -- but after today's incident, I'm thinking that's what happened.

It all started innocently enough. Earlier this summer, we installed new carpet upstairs -- the old mess desperately needed to be replaced, so we had it pulled out and put in a lovely loop-and-pile Stainmaster carpet. My bare feet were so happy.

Then, in order to take good care of our fancy new carpet (plus the almost-new carpet already downstairs), we decided to get a new vacuum cleaner. Seemed like a good idea, given that the one we have was a cheap floor model we got at a discount and it makes the house smell bad every time I turn it on. So we spent some time looking online (as we always do) -- reading reviews, checking prices, looking for the best deal.

I also asked friends what they use, laughing each time one of them lowered her eyes, blushed slightly and said apologetically, "I bought a Dyson," adding hurriedly, "but it's amazing what it can get out of your carpet. Really. Seriously. I mean, you should see it. It's amazing." Why so embarrassed, I thought -- I know they're expensive, but it's okay if you really think they're that great.

Finally on Sunday, we found ourselves at a big box appliance store. We started with the Hoover, which seemed like a good basic option that had all the necessary details. My husband was test-driving it when Junius announced that he needed to pee, so I took my son to the potty. When I returned from said potty trip, somehow my husband had moved from the $170 Hoover to the nearly $500 Dyson. You know, the one with the cool ball roller thing and the wand attachment that launches out of the handle like a light saber. That vacuum has more engineering in it than my car.

Long story short, the salesman did his job and we were sold -- plus he had a coupon. An hour later, we had it home, out of the box, assembled and were vacuuming the upstairs. Everyone wanted a turn. And when we were finished, the amount of crap inside that canister was enough to make my stomach turn (see disgusting close-up photo at left). Between knowing that all that mess was no longer under my feet and that the air the Dyson was putting out was actually cleaner that what was already in the house, I was an instant believer.

Then today at the pool, I was chatting with two other moms (who I don't know well) about life, love and the pursuit of cleanliness. One mentioned using her vacuum attachment to clean hard surfaces instead of dusting. "That's brilliant," I said. "Never thought of that, but I just got a new vacuum cleaner with a brush attachment built in, so I could do that at the same time when I'm vacuuming."

And when she asked the next logical question -- "What kind did you get?" -- I promptly lowered my eyes, blushed slightly and answered apologetically, "I bought a Dyson."

Guess that means I'm an official cult member now. But at least my carpet is cleaner than ever.