Going All The Way Clean With Swiffer

I never dreamed I would one day marry a man who would give me a mop for our 2nd anniversary.

"It has cotton, I think. That's traditional."

I continued to stare at him in horrified silence.

He continued, oblivious. "It looks cottony. I don't know. Could be something else." He finally started to squirm under my scrutiny. "Are you...speechless with delight?"

My lips were thinning out. "No."

He looked hopeful. "Lust?"

My lips disappeared. "No."

"Shock?"

"In a way, yes," I snapped. "You bought me a mop for our 2nd anniversary, Chris! Hey! Where's the bonus toilet brush? Do I get a minivan and some polyester pants? How's about I head right over to the PTA and take that beeyotch over!" In hindsight, I was having a post partum baby blues meltdown, but, at the time, I was completely convinced that my husband wanted me to spontaneously combust.

"It's not a mop, babe. It's a Swiffer."

After he fished it out of the middle of the street where I had thrown it, it sat forlornly in the corner, untouched, unloved. Every couple of days he would try to convince me to include it in the family only to be met with my crazy eyes. He soon gave up.

I refused to acknowledge it's existence until the day our beagle, Dusty, got a case of the itchy hiney-hole and sat down to drag his butt across our tile floor. I watched in dismay as chunks of dog hair fled the scene and took refuge in my corners. If you know anything about dog hair, you know that it cannot be swept up. It runs. I grudgingly took the Swiffer and ran it around the kitchen. When I turned it over to see the results, I was shocked to see all of the dog hair on the Swiffer pad and none left on the floor. "Whoot!" I screamed before I gleefully Swiffered my whole house. I went through seven pads during my first laps and I was in the pit and changing to a fresh one when Chris walked in. "What's up, babe?"

"I love this thing. Love it!"

He looked confused. "The Swiffer?"

"Yep. Awesome." I began my rounds again while he and the dog stood and watched, wary.

"So, it's okay that I got you that for our anniversary?" he finally asked.

"Yes," I said as I attacked Dusty directly with my fresh, hair devouring pad, "but if you buy me a shoe shine kit for number 3, go ahead and hire an attorney to go with it."

My Swiffer lasted through two dogs with incredibly itchy butts and a house with floating wood floors. When we moved to our new house in November, it mysteriously disappeared. I asked Chris to buy me a new one, but he was understandably wary after the reaction he received the first time. "Umm, yeah, I'll get right on that."

Like an answer from Proctor & Gamble heaven, I received an email from Jenny at BlogHer.

"Would you be interested in reviewing the Swiffer? We'll send you one on us..."

"I would love to! But can you send a small dog along with it? Preferably something that sheds? You know, so it will be an accurate review."

"No. And don't email me again. You're very weird."

"Sweet!"


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