A lunch gone clean

Yesterday, my friend Domestic Diva and I had a lovely lunch together in the skyway that connects our places of work. You would think two twenty-somethings would base the majority of their conversation on love, work, hopes and maybe, oh I don't know, Jane Austen. But no. We could not stop talking about one thing.

Dustbusters.

Do you have one? Do you have any model recommendations? DD has one and I want one in an extremely serious way. I want one like you want a scoop of dirt cake out of your roommate's pan. I want one like you want it to be 4 am instead of 7 am when your alarm goes off.

The swiffer is not cutting it. Wet or dry, it just sort of pushes stuff around. Yes, I will admit that when dust bunnies magically float over to the edge of the dry swiffer it does sent a shiver of delight to that part of me that lives for a clean apartment, but in essence it's just sort of smearing dust with some other dust. And the wet swiffer, don't even get me started on that. Can we say tiles, people? How are you supposed to sweep or mop with tiles? I'll tell you how.

Dustbusters. Picture this. I sweep everything on the kitchen floor into one pile. Then, instead of attempting to sweep the contents onto the dustpan or using my (ew!) hands to pick up the big chunks, I could just vroooooooooom suck those puppies right up. And! I could even use it on our small rugs which is the extent of our carpeting, explaining why we are without an actual vacuum cleaner.

Can you picture it? Eeeeee!