The trials of the mechanically challenged.

I thought I had mastered my Dyson vacuum. Apparently not. I decided that I would take advantage of the beautiful weather today and vacuum out my nasty station wagon. (I no longer pay for full-service car washes, nor do I have a gym membership. This is how the bad economy has affected me. Other people can't buy Christmas gifts this year because they don't have jobs. So we're pretty lucky.) Anyway, Dave brings out the vacuum to the garage for me, empties the receptacle thingy, and plugs it in. He does this not because I'm incapable, but because he's being nice and helpful. I presume he also knows that I do not believe I need to empty it, nor do I believe I need the extension cord, so he's saving me the trouble of my own stubbornness. Thank you, Dave. You were right. Everything's going along swimmingly, with Mia running around in the yard perfectly content to play "Homeward Bound" with her stuffed animals. Then the swearing (inside my head) ensues, due to the fact that I can't get the extension wand to suck up the junk between the seats. The swearing ends with a major bonk to my head. I go inside all huffy, complaining that the Dyson does not work for cleaning out the car. Dave calmly comes over and takes the wand apart, showing me that it will in fact work quite well if you do it right. (Really, Dysons are awesome vacuum cleaners.) So I go back out and finish the job. But, wait, there's more. Then Mia comes over and I show her how we can examine the contents of the receptacle thingy to make sure we didn't suck up anything of value. I'm holding it up and turning it around, going "What is that? Do you need that button?," at which point, half of the contents spill out into my lap. Oh, goody. I guess there has to be a hole in it in order for the crap to get in there in the first place! Ugh. At least I had a good vacuum nearby.