I’ve been hinting to my sweet husband that we need a new one for awhile now, but my hints have been a little too vague because he heard, “Honey, will you please fix the broken one?”  And while I do appreciate his effort, that wasn’t really what I meant.  

But for some reason, a new vacuum has just never been purchased.  Not because we didn’t have the money, but because it really hasn’t been a priority or even an issue except maybe once or twice a month when I actually vacuumed.  Ok…once a month (in a good month), but I blame this primarily on the fact that my vacuum causes such frustration that I would rather not deal with it and live in filth than bring it out and cuss it.

So now that I have set the stage with my lousy vaccuum, let me tell you about the other day at work.

One of the guys brought in some homemade pickled eggs (stay with me here, I promise you will see the connection in a second).  I find boiled eggs to be one of the foulest foods imaginable, not so much for their taste but more because of the texture.  First there’s the squishy white part that doesn’t really break down in your mouth, and then that’s paired with the mushy yellow part that feels like sand on your tongue.  I don’t know how people can eat these things when they aren’t pickled, but why you would let them set in a jar of vinegar for days on end and think that would improve their taste just baffles me. 

So we are all standing around the office talking about what would possess a person to do that to a boiled egg and then bring it into the office to share with others.  I mean, people actually think pickled eggs are a good thing? Gross!  I guess since I’ve worked with all men for awhile now, what transpired next really shouldn’t come as a surprise, but dares started being thrown around about eating one.

And that’s when Ken looked me dead in the eyes said, “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you eat one.”

I wavered for a second as one of the guys started trying to get in on the offer.  “A hundred bucks?!  I’ll do it right now for a hundred bucks!”

“Of course you will.  You’re a bachelor, but she HATES boiled eggs.”

Now I know what you are thinking, “Isn’t his hundred bucks, your hundred bucks?”  And normally you would be right, but Ken and I have special blow money we are allowed every month to spend on whatever we want, no questions asked as long as it’s ethical.  Ken’s money almost always goes towards camera equipment, and mine goes towards knick knacks for the house.  But in my current state, I want furniture for my new den, and I start mulling over the thought of an extra hundred dollars going straight from camera to den.

“Go get me a fork,” I said as I swallowed hard, trying not to gag at just the mere thought of eating one of these eggs.

The guys crowded around as I took the first bite, and it was as disgusting as I expected.  I immediately thought to myself, “I could have never done this when I was pregnant.”  They started to all laugh as I drew in a deep breath and swallowed the next bite.  That one came back to get me, but I choked it back down and continued on. 

More guys started to emerge from their offices to see what all the laughter was about.  I looked over at Ken who’s laughing hysterically at this point, covering his mouth with his hand.  I swallow the next several bites concentrating on the hundred bucks and trying not to think about how disgusting this egg was.  I finally got the last bite down, only to gag on it one last time.  I have to tell you.  It was one of the foulest things I have ever eaten, and for the rest of the day it set heavy in my stomach.  Of course, the fact that I wasn’t even 48 hours out from a recent stomach bug didn’t help matters either.

I went back to my office to mull over my victory and get some work done, and there was already a message in my inbox from my husband.  “I can’t believe you ate that egg!”  I started to think about how weird guys are.  Ken had just spent a hundred dollars to watch his wife eat a pickled egg, and he thought it was worth the money.

I went into his office  to pose another deal with him.  “I’ll let you out of the hundred bucks if you give me the go ahead to walk out right now and buy a new vacuum cleaner, no questions asked, and it doesn’t have to come out of my blow money.” 

“You got a deal.”

So that evening as the pickled egg set festering in my stomach, I vacuumed our entire house, doing a little dance as I sucked up dust and cat hair that had been embedded in our carpet for far too long.  I marveled at all the working attachments and the automatic cord rewind, and in hindsight, that egg didn’t seem to taste too bad.  Of course, that vacuum will forever go down in history as the appliance I had to eat a pickled egg for, but what I lost in appetite, I gained in cleanliness…not to mentioned the new found respect I’ve earned around the office with the guys.