Domestic Goddess

This morning I set aside time to do some cleaning. More than just regular pick up the place, but some serious cleaning. I define that as: doing the floors. My most loathed task.
So I put on the tunes (Lenny Kravitz) I put on my domestic goddess clothes, grabbed my mop and went to it. But I guess it wasn’t meant to be. About half-way through, my mop broke. Not just something small popping off. Nope. It broke. I tried to fix it and even improvise a solution because I was not going to get around to domestic goddess mode again for a long, long time. But to no avail. I refused to be discouraged so I plugged in the vacuum. A minute or two into it, there was this burning smell and the vacuum came to an abrupt stop. hmmmm I am beginning to feel like there is a conspiracy. I flipped over the vacuum to find ENOUGH HAIR TO MAKE ANOTHER PERSON wound around the brush roller at the bottom. It was disgusting. It was all mine, too. How could I lose that much hair on my carpet alone (this does not count what is in my shower drain or in my hair brush or in other, uncarpeted parts of the house) and still have hair on my head? How did it find its way there? I am thoroughly skeeved. Wow. God must be busy keeping count of the hairs on this head.