It's never recommended to feed a 17 month old in the living room. However every now and then, the urge to watch Coronation Street during it's regular time slot over takes me and I pull the old high chair into the living room and we eat in front of the TV. The resulting mess always requires a vacuum cleaner.
Tonight, while I was cleaning up the mess (I just had to see what John Stape was doing with Rosie Webster locked in his Gran's Attic), Bridget was screaming because she is afraid of the big noisy beast. So I had to pick her up. There is only so much hoovering (ha ha...Now I fancy myself a character from my beloved show) you can do with a 25lb kid on your hip, so I put her down on the couch where she continued to freak out.
The entire fuss caused me to let go of a riddle of oaths in my mind, silently cursing the vacuum.
Suddenly she got much louder. I was picking up the toys in my path and as I turned to look at her, I noticed she was pointing at the vacuum. I glanced in it's direction and did a double take when I realized what was happening. The darn thing was on fire!
Of all the things I might have thought, I never did wish for it to catch on fire. Just that I didn't HAVE to vacuum. Tomorrow I might think that I would like to be rich and just in case plunk down an investment on some 649 tickets.
After all...I do need have small appliances to buy.
