The Mop

A Word Of Substance

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Photo by Linda Daunter

I’ve been pushed around all my life, but it’s never bothered me. The hands that touch my surface can only strengthen my core. I’ve watched other mops come and go in the business and they all have the same disposition. They complain, they whine and eventually they snap.

The first time I met Sally, she seemed like a rag doll right from the start. She had blond stringy hair and a natural knack for playing the victim. She used to tell me about the all nighters at the University of Virginia cafeteria. She would push her soppy sad story along the linoleum floor with a vengeance that served no one. Did the janitor care? No. Did the students care? No. Did I care? No.

I said to her: You are nobody’s toy.

I prefer not to think of myself as a mere object, but instead as…

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