Author: Cornish, Rick

Lynn’s Dyson
A brief, (I swear) and curious tale.

For months Lynn’s Dyson, her one true love besides me, had been whining a throaty yet high-pitched whine. I knew what it was but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. The bearings were going, even a non-mechanic like me could tell just by listening. But I said nothing because, as I’ve explained, Lynn loves her Dyson vacuum cleaner.

Let me explain. First of all, my wife is a clean freak. To be more precise, she’s a CLEAN FREAK!. Second, we’ve always had dogs, with an ‘s’. Hence dog hair has been her enemy in much the same way that the Sunnis have always been the enemy of the Shea, except that Lynn hates dog hair way more than the one sect hates the other sect. Until Dyson came out with his revolutionary new vacuum cleaner design, there was no such thing as peaceful co-existence. It was war and it wasn’t pretty. Then, suddenly the scientific breakthrough breaks through and, overnight, Lynn can actually stay ahead of the dog hair. She can live with it because she knows that whenever she feels like it, twice a day if she likes, her new friend Dyson will kick the butt of dog hair.

So it was two days after I was released from Kaiser after my arrhythmia episode; I’m lying on the couch feeling pretty much like crap, listening to the shrill and anguished cry of the dying Dyson off in the distant study when, suddenly, silence. Then, “Ohhhh my God. It’s dead. RICK, IT’S DEAD. DYSON’S DEAD.”

She was of course right; finally, inevitably the master of dog hair and dust and dog-caked mud and everything unmentionable that creeps into wall-to-wall carpeting had given up the ghost. By the time I stumbled into the study, Lynn was already seated at the computer, online and at the Dyson homepage. “This is for the best”, I heard her mumbling to herself, “it was just it’s time. Oh look, look at all the new models. Hmmm.”

Even in my weakened state….spending even just a couple days in the hospital while they try to slow your heart down with one downer after another takes its toll….I was able to talk my wife out of buying the absolute top of the top of the line model. She ordered one near the top, the one touted to be the especially designed not just for dog owners, but for owners of multiple dogs. I kid you not. Expensive, but not as much as the royal, hallowed Dyson X-31. My work done, I begin the long journey back to my couch in the living room when I hear another shriek.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening. RIIIIICK. OH NO.” The problem, of course, was that even with paying a fifty buck premium, the damned machine was going to take six days to arrive. Lynn was beside herself. There was no consoling her. She was inconsolable in the same way you see those poor middle eastern women on the news beating their chests. I tell my wife that there’s an old vacuum in the storage room in the barn that she can muddle through with. “But I don’t WANT to muddle,” she cries.

(Let me say right here and now that my wife Lynn IS NOT obsessive compulsive. She’s something completely different that’s not at all bad and that has no stigma whatsoever attached to it. I’m not sure what it’s called, but it is definitely not OCD).

Two days later I carry the garbage out to the trash cans, my first day out of the house since the hospital, when up pulls a big brown UPS truck.

“Mornin’ sir,” says the handsome young driver and hands me a Tyson X-28 (made for owners of multiple dogs).

“Oh my God,” I say to the UPS guy, “my wife is going to be THRILLED. She didn’t expect this for another four days. Wow, this is great. She’s gonna want to celebrate. My God, this is fantastic!” (Yes, the pressure had been building over the past forty-eight hours.)

Young Mr. UPS looks at me curiously. “Ah, I’m guessing your wife likes vacuums a whole lot.”

“Well, let me put it this way. If something were to happen to me….you know, if I croaked….. my wife would probably upgrade to a better model Tyson rather than remarry.”

UPS laughed and turned to walk away and then, over his shoulder he said, “Okay, well you have a good day and you take care of that heart of yours.”

Now I ask you, how did that man know of my heart troubles?
Posted:  1/30/2009

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