A message penned to my husband

Darling husband, 
I’m afraid you’ll need to resign from your job with immediate effect.
The new hoover and I are incompatible. It took me 10 mins to open, gave up on finding the attachments then vacuumed with it wedged in my armpit. Its clearly made for a 6’5” Olympian, not a delicate 5’2” flower like myself. 
I have since mopped the floors, staggered into the garden, and am now lying here in a state of near-death, with barely enough energy to compose this note. Please prepare to take over all hoover-related duties from this day forth.
Yours,
The Fallen House Elf