Nature abhors a vacuum, which is my excuse for not cleaning the carpet recently.
I don't want to disturb the fragile eco-system of the shagpile. I don't want its feng shui to get suctioned out of shape. And god knows I don't want to unleash the full power of Mother Nature's fury if I even so much as look at that bottle of Shake-N-Vac.
But I do wonder about the tiny microbes and dust mites that make their home in my carpet. I hope they are happy in such a tranquil beauty spot. My small carpet must be like a glorious National Park to them, featuring an expansive picnic area with cutting-edge grilling stations, trestle tables, Adirondack chairs, and clean bathroom facilities. A fibrous Yosemite bathed in eternal sunshine, free from the ravages of the Dyson and the Hoover.
My hardwood floors, however, I mop religiously. Whatever little creatures live in the cracks between the planks are facing a lemon-scented Tsunami every Sunday. Chore Day is a Biblical epic for them.
I think the moral here is: don't get caught between a rug and hard place.