She had just thought through all of this because she was a very literal person who liked to describe things accurately in her mind when the broom spoke.
'I think I'm allergic to dust,' it said and she thought it did sound stuffed up, though she wasn't sure why she thought this having never heard a broom talk before. In fact she nearly dropped it when it spoke. She could feel the cells in the handle move in her hand and the voice was the straw rubbing against each other. Yet it formed words that she could understand perfectly.
'What good is a broom that is allergic to dust?' she asked it. 'I don' know,' it admitted. 'Would you rinse me off? I'm really uncomfortable.' And because it had asked she did this, running cool water over its straw bristles. 'Ah,' it said. Then it began to shake its bristles and sprinkle water all over her nice, clean house. The small pile of dust she had been trying to sweep turned into a cake of mud that would need to dry before she could try to sweep it again.
She didn't know what to do. She supposed she could hang it on the wall as a decoration, but a broom was not her style and besides it would probably want to talk to her day and night. Would it get bored? she wondered. The broom was still shaking water from its bristles and getting everything she owned quite wet.
Finally her eyes alighted on the fire and she knew what to do. She threw the broom into the fireplace. The straw sizzled as the water in it boiled and the handle blackened and caught fire and for a few minutes the broom that was allergic to dust warmed her house.