Swivel Sweeper – Crumbs Fear It

I talked myself into the Swivel Sweeper, and it was one of the best talks I ever had. My should-be-shiny wood floors need more care than advertised, and I was very hopeful that the Swivel Sweeper would be their savior — because goodness knows I am not. Don’t get me wrong, I love the look of warm, softly glowing wood grain in my home. It almost makes me cry, but I’m easily distracted. I go for months and forget to look down. When I do happen to drop something, my fork or an Oreo, and lean over to pick it up – a close look at the dried glop on my floor makes me go into hyper-Hoover. However, it’s a little late by then for the Swivel Sweeper to do its best work. Oh, it works great, but now I have to use it twice . . . once pre-scrape-and-scrub to remove the loose garbage and again when (Gasp!) I forget and absently swipe table crumbs onto my genuine laminate floor. Noooo . . .!! I quickly retrieve the Swivel Sweeper from the hall closet and set it to Fugitive Assassination Mode. Rotary bristles and super suction sniff out every last morsel, even those cowards huddled under baseboards and refrigerator, and secure litter away in a temporary holding cell until transported to the big house – the trash can in the corner – where the dirt tray is never touched, life is short and crumbs are a menace to society no longer.

One of the cleverest things my Swivel Sweeper does is, well . . . swivel. It swivels under the kitchen table, where the best treats are generally found. It swivels behind the toilet, where they are not. It swivels 360 degrees under the bed and behind the furniture. It even swivels, with a little encouragement, between the washing and dryer, usually a one-trip swivel before visiting the big house. The handle of the Swivel Sweeper breaks in the middle with a clicky-hinge and performs an Olympic gymnast’s zig-triple-back-zag, thus multiplying the Swivel Sweeper’s huge and unfair advantage over the most hardened crumbs. And, after about an hour of swiveling, swooping and swigging, my Swivel Sweeper requires a little switcheroo rejuvenation. I snap off the little red box, plug it in to recharge and stand the valiant Swivel Sweeper back in the closet for a well-earned respite. Not, however, until the head of this sweet little unit is cocked to the side and swiveled to a strong magnet that holds its straight bristles out of harm’s way, preventing bent sweeper hair. Now my sweeper can rest . . . until the phone call that means my in-laws are coming over. My Swivel Sweeper hears the call and stands in the dark closet, prepared to bend, zig, swivel, suck – whatever it takes to make me look good!