Years ago, I owned a vacuum cleaner. To be clear, I didn’t buy it. Nor do I have any recollection of someone giving it to me. One day I looked in my closet and simply discovered it nonchalantly resting against a wall. It seemed rude to question its right to be there.
It was a cheerful powder blue and, for reasons I never discovered, it had a faded ABBA sticker stuck across it at a jaunty angle. I dragged it with me through more apartment moves than I care to remember, and somehow it changed from being an annoying thing I accidentally owned to a prized possession.
I loved that thing. What it lacked in suck it made up for in personality and sheer durability.