Less than a month ago, I bought two brooms.
Because I was sick of looking for the one my kids hadn't broken. Oh wait. They had broken it–but I'd taken the head and attached it to a painter's extension rod. This thing was thick. Go ahead, ride that baby like a pony, it ain't snapping in two, no matter how big you are. Go ahead, try it–but bring it BACK!
Oh no. That couldn't be.
And I was SICK of looking for it. So bought two more.
ALL I WANT IS ONE OF THEM–ONE OF THE THREE–JUST ONE!
A stick, preferably longer than my forearm, with some fringe attached to one end. That's all I'm asking!
You should see my floor this morning; I'd take a picture and show you, BUT THEY HAVE MY CAMERA, TOO.
Five boys+three brooms+$900 SLR camera (plus possibly some explosives left over from July 4th–everything seems to involve explosives at this point)=what?
Tell me, please, because I guarantee it doesn't have anything to do with cleaning.
I have looked in every room of my house, behind every door, in every closet. And yes I've even looked over the fence, on all three sides.
Do you really want to know what happens when you take the witch's broom?