Dear Mr. Dyson:
Your vacuum cleaner sucks. And not in the way a vacuum is supposed to.
Not long ago, I traded in my sturdy, but bulky and aging vacuum for your metrosexual model. I wanted to love not just your cyclone technology, but you as well. I envisioned my home transformed - orderly rooms, sleek furniture, rugs you can eat off of (and not just because granola bars have been ground into them).
But, my friend from across the pond, it was not to be. Within the first days of use, the vacuum met Moon Sand. Have you met Moon Sand, Sir James Dyson? I thought not.
It's an enticing product sold via TV commercials to young children, like mine, who watch too many cartoons. Moon Sand, it turns out, is made not of sand from the moon, which, note to NASA: you should sue over and get some money to pay down the federal deficit. Instead, it is a clay-sand-glue substance that clings to carpets, sock bottoms and to your ribs, I would suppose, if you were to eat it.
And if your vacuum can't handle Moon Sand, OK and some fireplace ashes, maybe a lot of fireplace ashes, too, then you should say so.
You should say (imagine this part with a British accent): Beautifully cleans up spilled cracker crumbs, should one of your well-dressed guests gets crazy with the pâté.
But, if you're thinking (still with accent) of vacuuming Moon Sand, fireplace ashes, and OK, some little pieces from the Operation game (no matter how satisfying that sound might be), then this isn't the vacuum for you.
Yes to eyelashes shed by baby kittens; no to Moon Sand, fireplace ashes, little pieces from the Operation game (no matter how satisfying that sound might be), and OK, pancake batter.
Cause no matter how many times you rinse out the patented-technology filter, your vacuum is just not the same after meeting Moon Sand, fireplace ashes, little pieces from the Operation game (no matter how satisfying that sound might be), pancake batter, and OK, bone marrow harvested during an at-home procedure.
And I thought you should know.