We discreetly meet once a week.

Not a word is spoken.

In my arms, we move in fluid motion.

Sometimes, we begin in the kitchen and gracefully end near the front door.  Other times it’s the foyer.  Even the bathroom.

Together, we move, dip twirl and spin.  (Pretty good for a guy who dances like Dustin Hoffman in “Rainman.”)

My partner goes by one name.  Not Rihanna.  Or, Beyonce.

My partner is simply known as…………Swiffer.

Swiffer, my lady.

Swiffer has to be the greatest invention of my day.  Forget the cellphone.  Drop that Ipod in the garbage.  And the PC?  Let me ask you, can you use a PC dry OR wet?  I think not.

The Swiffer you can!

Now I’ll give you the Swiffer isn’t much to look at.  Beyonce may have the booty, but now I understand why Popeye was head over heels for Olive Oyl!

Swiffer has a bod as flat as Kansas, but that girl can do a number on the floor!

I would show you what the Swiffer gingerly sweeps from underfoot but there may be small children present and I wouldn’t want to alarm them.

The Swiffer has also revolutionized our language as “swiffer” can be used in a sentence many different ways.

As a noun:

          “The Swiffer is spectacular.”

As a verb:

          “The tile swiffered in the sunlight.”

As an adjective:

          “This room is swiffer clean!”

Needles to say, I am enamoured with my Swiffer.  And I eagerly await our next rendezvous!

Oh by the way, I call this post “Dancing With The Scars” in reference to the lesion scars on my brain.  All of us with multiple sclerosis have’em.

I must be losing my capacities too as evident by my writing about a stupid floor cleaning device.  God help me!