I can, for no good reason, trace my way back through at least four of them. Each and everyone of them, with the exception of the last one (which was a complete piece of shit but at the time we just needed a broom), had features that initially made them attractive. When we got them home, however, the honeymoon was off.
- The fourth last broom we had went to bristle pretty quickly. Turns out it wasn't up to the rough task of cleaning up porous tile. Instead it got relegated to patio duty. Take that fourth to last broom.
- The third to last broom had a guard on it that cracked and that just got annoying. It would cling to things. And let's face it - the only time clinging is good is when its to a rope to keep you from falling off a mountain.
- The second last broom we had - you know I'm really not sure what happened with that one. We still have it - its in the shed and I've used it to clean up the carport and its been fine. Maybe it just got boredom. Boredom, like cheating, has ruined many a good relationship.
- The last broom we had was the aforementioned piece of crap broom. We also still have that one (we're pack rats okay? leave off).
- This current broom - this one is a piece of art. It's a Vileda. If the world of Hogwarts witchcraft and wizardry actually existed, Vileda would be making brooms for the Canadian Quidditch teams. Its beautiful (in the way a stick of wood can be beautiful) but... that's right there's a but. If you turn this broom at just the wrong angle the stick starts to come loose - and not just a little bit loose. If you're not careful the stick will shoot off and impale you to the wall.
These brooms are like tragic heroes - essentially good and admirable but with one fatal flaw that, in the end, is their undoing.
As I was sweeping this evening I got to thinking about the brooms of days past and found myself questioning why each of them had that one great flaw. Why can't something as simple as a broom be perfect? You don't ask much from a broom, it has a simple function. But why does it falter so often.
Or perhaps, like beauty, imperfection is in the hand of the broom holder.