The woman loves......
her broom.*
I like swords, really, I do. They are very useful on the battlefield (~at least they were) or during a knighting ceremony. They also look very nice displayed upon the wall (~well out of the reach of children, of course;), but really, when it comes to ordinary around-the-house use, they are just plain impractical ~even cumbersome.
Now the broom, on the other hand.....
Not only is it efficient at clearing away the dirt tracked in from the great outdoors, or the aftermath of a family dinner, but it is also a weapon. A weapon of unparalleled performance when in the hands of a determined housewife. Note the stiff bristles, the hardened plastic whatever-it-is that encases their tops, and the long smooth broomstick.......
Truly, when wielded, it is a thing to be feared; a force to be reckoned with.
But I did not always view it so. And then last Thursday night came. And with it came a spider. (I think I mentioned somewhere a few months back that I could handle spiders. Well, I had
never been personally introduced to a spider the size of the one I met that night.) It. Was. Huge. It's body, about as large as my thumb, and with it's legs, spreading to a size larger than my open palm. It was a monster, not at in keeping with the circumferential limits of any decent, self respecting house-spider. And, as was the case
last time I found myself in a traumatizing predicament, I was alone with the children; my Knight in S. A. off slaying dragons (~actually working on the new/old house, but it's really about the same thing;). It crouched there on Big Brother's sweatshirt (which someone-whom-we-won't-name carelessly left on the floor) and looked at me with each of it's eyes. I stood, frozen, by the bathroom sink, thinking "You.have.got.to.be.kidding.me. ~AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"
But I didn't make a sound. I just stood there, in my stocking feet (~a really cute pair of bright pink socks, to be exact). So, as I was saying, there I stood in my really cute pair of bright pink socks. And there the spider crouched, on Big Brother's sweatshirt; which was right in the way of the door. I was in trouble and I knew it. There was nothing in the room which could be used to adequately vanquish the creature. Attempting to stomp it with my really cute pair of bright pink socks was entirely out of the question. Entirely. And what was more, I had baby Blue on my hip (~I had just been preparing to wash him for the night). But I knew what I had to do. I had to somehow make my escape around the horrible beast, deposit Blue in a safe location, and then return with some sort of spider-slaying weapon. Easier said than done.( By now little prickles were dancing a ridiculously fast polka up and down my spine.) But I had to do it. I whispered a little prayer to St. Francis, and quickly dashed around the hairy fiend; not daring to glance down, lest my resolve weaken. I deposited Blue behind a barricade of toys and began searching for a weapon. Shoes? My Knight's big hunting boots? No and no. They would require a proximity much too close for my liking, as I did not want to risk throwing them and missing. Then I saw my broom. Standing quietly all by itself against the wall, just where I had left it after sweeping under the table. And I knew. I knew without a shade of doubt that I had found my weapon.
I armed myself and strode boldly (okay.....more like I gingerly-tiptoed-over-and-timidly-peeked) into the room. The foul beast was still there. It saw me and tensed. I did not hesitate. I thrust with the bristles. It dodged and I thrust again. And again.
Terrors! It still lived!
I changed tactics and employed the hard plastic whatever-it-is that encases the top part of the bristles.
Whack! Whack! Whack-Whack!!
Dead.
Vanquished.
All that was left, was to pick up the scattered remains. I cringingly did, with a large wad of tissue, all the while expecting the deceased's nearest and dearest to come springing out of the shadows in revenge. I took comfort in knowing my faithful broom lay nearby. Together we could handle the nearest and dearest.....if it came to that.....which I hoped it wouldn't......and it didn't......much to my relief.
Yes, "The Knight may love his shining sword.."
....as for me,
I love my broom.
*My apologies to Mother Goose, for taking liberties with a rhyme attributed to her.
It runs as follows:
"The hart, he loves the high wood;
The hare, she love the hill.
The knight, he loves his shining sword;
The woman love her will."
~As a side note, I was suddenly struck with a memory (from long ago) of my mother, her broom, and some huge sows. The sows had come lumbering into the yard, and my mother didn't hesitate. She grabbed her broom and went right after them, chasing them down the drive (it's about a quarter of a mile long). She said about half-way down the drive, she suddenly noticed just how big they were. She quietly turned to go home, but the pigs didn't notice. They just kept running for home.
Yes, the broom is an amazing thing.
