“All that glisters is not gold.”

–William Shakespeare (1564-1616; widely regarded as one of the greatest writers in the English language and the world’s pre-eminent dramatist. The quote is from his The Merchant of Venice, 1600.)

Aversion is a strong word, and I don’t use it often. However, on reflection, somewhere along the way, I may have said that I had a strong aversion toward something or other. My aversion must not have been too strong, however, or I would remember. But I don’t. And I don’t think I’ve ever used any of its synonyms either. I’m thinking of abhorrence, abomination, detestation, loathing, repugnance, and revulsion. Those words sound dreadful, and I’m certain that I’ve never been averse enough to anything to make me use dreadful-sounding words. I have a strong aversion to them all.

Besides, I don’t need to use those words. For me, it’s very simple. If I don’t like something, I come right out and say so. I’m not one to pussyfoot around. Let me give you an example of my directness.

I do not like to dust.

Got it? Well, in case not, let me be bold.

I do not like to dust.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind dusting every month or five or when houseguests come once in a Blue Moon. But dusting every week or–God forbid–every day is for Dust Bunnies or people who need to get a life.

I suppose that I might be more inclined to dust if the dust did not return so quickly. But it does, at least here on my Mountain. I can dust one day, and I swear on a stack of dust cloths that I can see the dust settling in and getting all comfy the next day. I stare. I glare. It stands its dusty ground on all my furniture while I walk around the entire house, staring and glaring and lamenting:

“Ruby, where does all this dust come from?”

Ruby’s my dog, and, of course, she does not care, and she does not answer me, but she Velcros me everywhere, looking every bit as perplexed as I look.

I have every right to be perplexed. After all, it’s just Ruby and me, and we live quiet lives. We are not rambunctious at all. Our walks through the house are calm and civilized as behooves a lady and a gentleman and cannot possibly be responsible for raising dust. Besides, I vacuum weekly, so while I may raise hell over that chore, after I finish vacuuming, there’s certainly no dust to raise. Moreover, now that it’s winter, my windows are closed, so I can’t blame my neighbors who rarely go up and down our dusty road anyway.

So, I can’t help but wonder:

“Where does all this dust come from.”

I have no idea, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell that I’ll let daily dusting become a part of my daily routine. There’s just no way. I’ll just look the other way. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Still, though, I know that the dust is there, lurking and snickering, so from time to time, I’m a sucker for too-good-to-be-true products promising to take my dust away. More often than not, they take my breath away and my money, too.

I mentioned one of those times in “Sherlock on the Summit: Solving the Mysteries of My Mountain Abode,” noting that Pledge and I had had a good thing going for a long time. Then I saw an advertisement for Endust. The product gave me such royally high hopes that I stopped saying AD-ver-tize-ment as we Americans pronounce the word, and I shifted to the more highfalutin British pronounciation, ad-VERT-is-ment. I was incredibly eager to try Endust, and I did. Sadly, eager turned to anger. Endust did not end my dust, it caused me to end my fidelity to Pledge, and it caused more than one neighbor to raise an eyebrow as I sprinkled ad-VERT-is-ment into our conversations, standing there like a durned fool all garbed up for gardening with a weedwhacker in my hand. I discovered that my linguistic charades were as ridiculoos as Endust’s claim to end dust.

I didn’t get too upset because I’m a quick learner. I just kept my eyes open for other sure-fire products guaranteed to end my dust, and I resolved to do so with an open, dust-free mind, fiercely determined to evaluate the dusty claims objectively.

Then, out of the blue, I saw two AD-ver-tize-ments with real-life endorsements:

1. “I have a friend who doesn’t dust anymore. His secret? An air purifier.”

2. “Let us do the dusting. (Loved by Health, USA Today, Popular Science, Forbes.)”

Hot dayum. My unprayed prayers had been answered. An air purifier would be the end to my dust and to my Endust. Sure. Without a dust mite in the world, air purifiers carry with them some mighty high price tags, but I kept right on looking anyway. Next thing I knew, I started seeing a gazillion ad-VERT-is-ments for air purifiers. Clearly, if I did my homework and checked all the unboastful and unexaggerated product claims, I might never have to dust again, or at least not more than once in a Blue Moon.

If you’ve got your own dust, then listen up to some of the other claims that seduced me into a wanton afternoon or three.

“Once Cl-r-f–n is plugged-in, a small generator inside starts releasing negative ions [that] … attach to other floating particles until they may become too heavy to float [and] eventually fall out of the air and onto the floor.”

Hey! Is that great or what? I just love the cautionary may. But think about it for a minute. If all of those particles don’t fall out of the air, my house will be a veritable Dust Bowl. If they do fall onto the floor, I might be freed from my dust cloth, but I won’t be freed from pushing the vacuum. Sounds like a Lose/Lose to me.

Next, please.

“If You’re Sick of Cleaning Up Pet Hair Every Day, You’re Gonna Want to Check Out This Air Purifier.”

Well, I’m going from dreadful to more dreadful. Dusting every day is one thing, but cleaning up pet hair every day is something else. Anyway, Ruby’s old enough to clean up after herself.

Up next is one that’s gotta be legit because it traps fur and dander, and it touts itself as the Tesla of air purifiers.

“Removes 99.97% of pollen and dust from your air. True HEPA + Traps pet fur and dander so you can enjoy more furry together time.”

Okay. I’m beginning to see a pattern! All of this dust and stuff is because of our pets:

“Just because you have pets, doesn’t mean you should have to breathe in their hair. In laboratory studies, users saw cleaner air in just minutes. 99.99% reduction in pollen,
pet dander and dust. You’re just 30 minutes away from noticeably cleaner air quality.”

That’s all fine and well, but the next ad-VERT-is-ment made me stop dead in my dust.

“Put the dust rag down! Stop dusting in 2024. Let S-ns do the dirty work. No matter where you put it, S-ns gives you a happier, healthier home. Cleans 1560 sq. ft every hour. HEPA 13 Filtration eliminates dust, dander, + more. Activated Carbon removes odors, chemicals, + more. So quiet you won’t even notice it’s there.”

OMG! My prayed prayers have been answered. Dust no more. Well, it did not take me long to order my own personal, dust-no-more S-ns. When it arrived and I unpacked it, I thought I had died and gone to a dustless Heaven. It’s my own sleek obsidian marvel, with a surface as smooth as midnight silk under my fingertips. It emanates a gentle hum, akin to the soft resonance of “OHM” in a tranquil sanctuary. Its subtle blue lights dance like celestial whispers, casting a serene aura, while a symphony of purification unfolds within, whispering promises of crisp, purified air.

Lordy. Lordy. Dust no more. I love it. And I love how readily it reminds me of how pure and dust free my home is. It actually measures particles in the air, and I can see at a glance my Air Quality Index (AQI):

● 0-74. Good

● 75-149. Moderate

● 150+. Poor

Oh. Joi! My AQI from the start has remained more or less at 5! WOW! (I am a little disappointed that it doesn’t have an AQI rating that would show mine as Excellent. Good, like dust, has never settled well with me.) Sometimes, if I’ve moved my purifier from my bedroom to the kitchen, it will jump to 9 or maybe 16. The other day, I sounded silent alarm after I fried a pork chop. My chop was delicious. My air quality, with the sensor at 79, was moderate. Big deal. It sure did smell good! But with S-ns’ HEPA 13 filtration and its activated carbon, the air was clear in a jiff, and I was OHMing once again.

Most of the time, I keep my S-ns in my bedroom, along with a humidifier and a heat pump. The purifier hums softly like a flute, cleansing the air with delicate precision. The humidifier emits a gentle mist akin to the soothing chords of a harp, adding moisture to the atmosphere. Completing the trio, the heat pump thrums steadily like a bass drum, circulating warmth throughout the room. Together, they create a symphony of comfort, blending harmoniously to orchestrate a serene ambiance.

That’s what I tell myself at any rate. But what would I know? Ruby and I are sound asleep, snoring our duet, while my three-piece orchestra plays all night long. As for the dust, I have to tell myself the truth. If I don’t dust anymore, it sure as hell won’t be because my S-ns Air Purifier eliminated the need. Everything’s as dusty as ever, and to dust it all off, I’m now aware of dog hairs that had escaped my attention before. If I don’t dust anymore, it will be because I choose not to dust.

What can I say for myself? I still don’t like to dust, and there’s still not a snowball’s chance in Hell that I’ll let daily dusting become a part of my daily routine. There’s just no way.

Having lived with my S-ns since Thanksgiving, I must declare that my thankfulness is far less than my pre-purchase hopes. I suppose that I could return it, but I’ve fallen in love with my little sleek obsidian marvel and its peaceful OHMing. Besides, I didn’t keep the box that it came in. What to do? What to do? I’ll just keep the dang thing as a reminder of the strong aversion that I have toward ad-VERT-is-ments that are too good to be true.