Dysons are a girl’s best friend

I want a diamond ring. But what I need is my Dyson.

In Israel, there are two major holiday seasons (shockingly, it’s not Hannukah!) It’s Rosh HaShana (the Jewish New Year) and Passover. And hi-tech companies generally give their employees gift options to choose from. My friends and I eagerly await our links to the gift choices - stalking the People Operations employees’ calendars to see when the website will go live. And once it does, we send screenshots and figure out who we’re most jealous of.

My previous employer shocked us with the breadth of their gift options. This was the best selection I had ever heard of!! The options included an overnight stay at a fancy boutique hotel, a couple’s massage, an Apple watch, and a Dyson V10 vacuum.

50% of me wanted the hotel stay since it’s something I’d never treat myself to, but the larger 50% knew the Dyson was more practical. My Bat Mitzvah turned moot — I became a WOMAN the day I proudly carried (read: cradled) my Dyson to my soon-to-be-spotless apartment.

Not only does my Dyson’s extendo-arm save my back from pain cleaning the dust from where wall meets floor, it also allows me to reach incredible heights. I cleaned the fans and air ducts of my new apartment, I sucked up a scary spider (and shot him to the depths of hell in my toilet bowl), and I gathered enough cat hair from my carpets to create a newborn kitten.

Any old vacuum might give you the same results, per se, but you will never feel as powerful as me when I press the boost button to save myself from another asthma attack. If you’re a home dweller, go pawn those diamonds if need be and get your hands on a Dyson.

And if you got this far, hire me cause you just took a minute to read an ode to a vacuum.