It’s a C-O-N-spiracy.
I am so onto you Dyson Corp. Nice try. With the super chatty sales lady who was oh so interested in me and my vacuuming needs. “What kind of carpet do you have?”
“Oh, you have a pet? What kind?”
It worked for a while. I naively believed that she was just trying to asses which Dyson would be the best fit for our home. BUT NOW I KNOW WHAT YOU WERE REALLY UP TO.
As soon as that fork tongued suction siren heard me say yellow lab she sent some kind of message back to the warehouse. Didn’t she? I’ll give you guys some credit. She was sneaky. I didn’t see her talking into her sleeve, or using any Sydney Bristowesque moves to initiate the communiqué…but I know she did it. And then your little minions in the back installed some kind of doohickey in my vacuum that churns out blonde fur faster than you can say “won’t lose suction.”
At first I just thought I had a dog with a shedding problem. But hello – I’m sucking up an extra pet a week. There is no way that my precious furry baby is making that big of a mess in my house. She loves me too much. So I started to think about what was really going on here. And that’s when it came to me. You knew that your modern design and chichi color schemes would get me to make the purchase. But you needed the clear canister to seal the deal. And so you made it impossible for me to resist the suction seduction. You made me a Dyson whore. Endlessly singing your praises to my friends. Obsessing about dust and dander. Vacuuming two, three times a week.
Oh Dyson, how I loathe you. Oh Dyson, how I love you.