mr. broom-bastic

When I initially saw you hanging from the rack, I thought you were perfect. You were like a mop, only much drier. You had excellent rotation about your swiveling head. You wore a blue fuzzy hat that would reach under low places. You had no course bristles to scratch my hardwood floors. You were $20.

Oh how you have betrayed me. No longer are you my sultan of sweep.

You cling to dog hair like no other. You hold tight to clumps of black fur, even in the face of vacuum force. You refuse to let go of your blue fuzzy hat, even though I've brought you a nice new one. How do I say this? You sir, are a greedy bitch.