When you're with me, I've always got that wet hairstyle. I glide across the floor, my movements clean and directed. After we're done the space is wet for awhile. And with a thorough wringing I am subjected.

I have three feet, but no arms and no legs. What am I?

A guardian of some renown, I perch like a spear. I sit beneath the crown, and strike any who draw near. I am a brethren with a spine, and may let you enter my hall. Against giants I hold the line, but not those who are small.

In Victorian times, men used to lay their cloak over me, so women could step down from carriages without ruining their shoes or dress. What am I, that, when stepped in, will make a mess?

Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew!