In the town in southern Spain where my mother grew up, you're not supposed to sweep the floor while someone in the house is eating, because it means you're sweeping their luck out the door with the crumbs. I thought this was one of those things older relatives say and nobody actually follows, until I visited my great-aunt last summer and watched her physically wrestle a broom out of my cousin's hands mid-lunch, over a plate of half-eaten paella, shouting something in rapid Andalusian Spanish that translated roughly to "are you trying to make us poor." My cousin, twenty-six years old, immediately put the broom down like it was on fire. I asked my aunt later if she actually believed it, and she gave me a look like I'd asked if she believed in gravity. "It's not about believing," she said. "It's about why risk it over dust." On my last night there she caught me sweeping crumbs off the counter while my uncle was still finishing his coffee. She didn't yell this time — just gently took the broom, waited until he set his cup down, and then swept, humming, completely unbothered. I asked how long you're supposed to wait. She said until the cup is empty, obviously, and looked at me like I'd asked something a child should already know. I haven't swept during a meal since, not even in my own kitchen four thousand miles away, where nobody would ever find out.