Let me go on record before I begin this tale by stating that I do not believe in dust mites and, by extrapolation, dust mite feces. We all have to draw that line between what is real in our lives, an acceptance of forces that influence human events, and that which is simply crap. I believe that Mulder and Scully saved our planet from an alien invasion. I do not believe in dust mite feces.
Recently, a friend called to ask if we would sit through a presentation for a super-duper vaccuum cleaner. See, if he got 6 people to sit through the presentation, he got a vaccuum for free. I said sure, but buy us a pizza so we have something to eat during the show. We got the show but somehow he forgot to order the pizza. Maybe he thought I was kidding. God, I so was not.
The show was a true feat of salesmanship. It lasted for well over two hours and was meticulously scripted. The saleman started with a general description of the evils of the air that we breathe in our home until you almost feel like gagging on the air that was just fine 5 minutes before he walked in the door. He goes into the various and sundry medical problems that can occur when your air is simply your air and not your air cleaned by their vaccuum cleaner attachment complete with a choice of three fragrances (one medicinal). After a good half hour of this he offers to give us one of the air cleaners for free if we can arrange a sales visit with one of our friends to occur in the next twenty-four hours. “We’re going to pass,” I say immediately, as hubby, caught up in the moment, reaches for his phone to find someone at home.
After failing to move us sufficiently with scare tactics about our air, we are delivered of forty-five minutes on the lack of importance of suction in a vaccuum cleaner’s job and the critical importance of the vaccuum cleaner receptacle. See, bags just leak back all over the place. Their vaccuums suck into water, trapping dust. And. More importantly. Dust mites.
And dust mite feces.
I squint down at the guy crouched on my living room floor. Dust mite feces? For a second my mind’s eye sees every room in my home coasted in a thin layer of dust mite feces. Me, hubby, the cat, the furniture, the carpeting. I consciously and deliberatly put an end to it.
1. If there are no dust mites, there are no dust mites feces.
2. Therefore, I do not believe in dust mites.
I was utterly immune to everything else he said. After a few more minutes I announce I’m going to bed. He’d been at our home for two and a half hours, arrived late and started late, so I don’t feel too bad as it is patently past my bedtime. I’ve done my duty to my friend who will undoubtedly put his dust mite feces-controlling vaccuum to good use. And I have performed the mental feat of obliterating the existance of dust mites. Ah, it’s all in a day’s work.
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