I Haven’t Vacuumed in Over a Year.
So we’re clear, I’m not about to explain with some kind of “life hack”.
“I stopped Hoovering and now I read 8 books a minute”. Nah, I simply don’t vacuum. I don’t have a Hoover. Or a Hetty. Or a Dyson. Or a G-tech Air Ram (though I’ve heard they’re absolutely outstanding).
It’s tempting to spin this into some form of minimalist living scenario — I only possess what I need, so no microwave; no Hoover; no broken clothes horse which I’m still trying to use despite buying a new one — but anyone could see through that. I’m all about clutter. As the saying goes; you only get one life, so fill it with useless trinkets.
Recently I got a little obsessed trying to find the perfect white t-shirt. I didn’t, and now there’s always at least 4 white tees on my (dusty) bedroom floor. All of which i hate. Minimalism.
I get it, It’s not ideal. But what’s a guy to do? Until the crushing inevitability of marriage and children rolls around, I say let a bachelor do what he wants (at least divorce rates are falling; just the one loveless marriage is enough for me).
Turns out “doing what he wants” is showering in the dark, and performing a peculiar crouch-hop around the flat with a dustpan and brush 20 minutes before someone comes round for the first time. Needless to say, not too many people make repeat visits unless it’s piling in for pre-drinks because “your flat is ideal”.
Yeah, yeah — save me the spiel, I’ve seen how you look around my skirting boards, and I’ve seen your expression through the gloom when you realise none of the bathroom lights work. I’m saving everyone a taxi fare so lets say no more about it. If my central location means I can add value to friendships without having to keep on top of the 200+ messages a day in the group chat, then I’m on board.
If you think this sounds like a cry for help, it is. Someone tell Sir James Dyson to stop pissing around with hairdryers, there are young men in crisis out here.