[Scene: A sunny afternoon in São Paulo. Luana and Rafa are sitting on Luana’s new apartment floor, surrounded by boxes and a few pieces of furniture. Luana holds a brand-new broom, proudly waving it around.]
Luana:
Tcharam! The first official item in my new apartment—a brand new broom! No bad energy is following me here.
Rafa:
(Laughs) That’s what you bought first? Not curtains, not a kettle—a broom?
Luana:
Of course! Everyone knows you can’t take an old broom into a new house. It sweeps in all the old problems, all the bad luck. My grandma swore by it.
Rafa:
(Laughs) Your grandma also swore that wearing underwear inside out during Carnival would protect you from heartbreak.
Luana:
And I haven’t had a single dramatic breakup during Carnival in three years. Coincidence? I don’t think so!
Rafa:
(Laughs) Okay, okay. But don’t you think there might be more logical explanations? Like, maybe you just chose better people or avoided texting your ex at 2am?
Luana:
Still… The broom thing is real. Look, when I moved in with my old roommate, I brought my old broom. Within a month, the toilet exploded, the ceiling leaked, and we stopped speaking after that big fight about labeling the milk.
Rafa:
Lu, you guys were already on edge. And that apartment was ancient—those pipes were basically fossils. I don’t think your broom summoned a plumbing demon.
Luana:
You laugh now, but my cousin Jéssica ignored this tradition. She brought her nasty old broom to her new house in Curitiba. Within a week—bam—she lost her job and her cat ran away!
Rafa:
Maybe the cat just hated the old broom.
Luana:
Don’t mock Tico! He was a sweet boy.
Rafa:
(Smiling) Sorry. Look, I totally get that rituals can make us feel safe. But from a scientific standpoint, there’s zero evidence that brooms store “bad energy.” They’re just tools with bristles and dirt.
Luana:
(Shrugging) Maybe science hasn’t caught up yet. You can’t measure everything with a microscope, Rafa.
Rafa:
True, but if we believed every cause-and-effect like that, we’d still be blaming eclipses for angry gods. You know how many people reuse their brooms and live totally fine lives?
Luana:
Maybe their luck just hasn’t run out yet.
Rafa:
(Laughing) So you think there’s a broom-based expiration date on luck?
Luana:
Hey, don’t act like you’re not a little superstitious. Didn’t you wear your “lucky socks” during your job interview?
Rafa:
Touché. But that’s more psychological—confidence booster, you know? Not me thinking my socks ward off evil HR spirits.
Luana:
(Snickering) I bet if I told you the socks absorbed rejection energy, you’d burn them right now.
Rafa:
…Okay, you win that one. But still, instead of throwing away a perfectly good broom, couldn’t we just…clean it? You know, physically and symbolically?
Luana:
Hmm. Cleanse it with sage? Holy water?
Rafa:
Or just…soap. Maybe some Dettol.
Luana:
(Smirking) That’s not nearly as dramatic.
Rafa:
I think your real superstition is just loving drama.
Luana:
(Grinning) Guilty. But admit it—you’ll remember this broom forever now, won’t you?
Rafa:
(Looking at the shiny new broom) I guess it does have main-character energy.
Luana:
Exactly! New broom, new me.
Rafa:
Fine. Keep the broom. Just don’t start naming it or taking it to brunch.
Luana:
Too late. This is Beatriz now. She’s coming to IKEA with us.
Rafa:
(Sighs) I should’ve brought sage…for myself.
[They both burst out laughing, sweeping the floor together, one with a hint of ritual, the other with mild resignation.]
[End Scene]
Science Vs Superstition 
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