Broom Doom

17 Sep

It’s that time of year again. You know, the time when all of your local stores are filled with the scent of cinnamon. The smell of cinnamon brooms are so strong that it immediately burns your nose when you walk in. I love it. (Okay, I don’t like my nostrils being on fire, but the rest I love) I am always tempted to buy one, but I never do.

For starters, I don’t have the proper decor. I feel like the purchaser of such a broom must have a apple or rooster themed kitchen…which I do not. I have a gingham apron, but I’m not sure if that’s enough to make me qualified.

Secondly, my dog, Denny, would probably eat it and die from an overdose of cinnamon. (Or whatever fake chemical is used to make the broom smell like cinnamon) I can almost see him now, gallivanting about the house with a broom, three times his size, hanging out of his mouth. The kids would be screaming and running behind my smiling dog, adding to the mayhem.

Thirdly, Fisher would probably do something horrible to someone or something with the broom. I’m not sure what, but I know for a fact it would be something unbelievable and down right breath taking…and not the good kind of breath taking. Fisher has a knack for these kinds of things. They don’t happen very often now a day, but when they do, they’re pretty colossal. Don’t believe me? Okay, at two years old, I found a frozen cube steak stuffed under his pillow. Not enough? How about when he was three years old and decided to pour an entire bottle of maple syrup over his head…while sitting on his bed? Ah, yes. It’s not that he’s trying to be bad, it’s just all that testosterone roaming about his veins. The boy in him compels him to do so.

So, it appears that I will have to admire the cinnamon brooms from afar. Alas. ;)

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