My husband bought me a robot vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day.
He was discerning enough to catch the subtle trail of hints I left him!
(Insert footage of me pounding on his chest and threatening divorce if I did not get my expensive robot vacuum cleaner for Mother’s Day)
I cannot describe how happy this new toy makes me.
My college girlfriend Chicago Talya stopped by on whirlwind tour of Ohio Sunday, so I forced her and her buddy Glenn to marvel at this new addition to our family. She said I was every feminist’s worst nightmare, and I thought that was clever and oh-so-very true.
I am trying to ignore the spirit of my petite grandmother, who infamously hurled a vacuum cleaner– gifted from my grandfather — out the back door and smashed it into the yard in front of my parents. She was a spirited little pipsqueak who did not take kindly to all things domestic, gifted or otherwise–despite this being the only option for women at the time.
I justify this by telling myself that I have a job outside the home, and therefore it is my choice to embrace cleaning-related gifts.
I wish I could buy every woman on the planet one of these things.
Take off your bras and put down your abortions, ladies! This thing will set you free! I just sit there and watch it toil away, and I empty the bin when it is finished. It even plays a little robot song upon start-up, reminding me that sometimes things can look forward to cleaning.
Are you shaking your head in wild disbelief? I know, right? Nothing is that easy, but I could eat dinner off my floors and I no longer have to pick bits of dog food off my child when she takes to rolling around on the living room rug.
Plus, it automatically transitions between rugs and hardwood floors. It KNOWS when there is a drop-off, and it prevents itself from falling down the stairs. Our dog can barely do that!
We didn’t get the one that automatically docks itself when the battery is low, but that is okay. That feature is probably not worth the extra $150.
Roll on, Molly Mae. Let those crumbs drip from your mouth, Maybel. Seth? Let the sawdust fly. Nothing a little magic robot won’t fix.
Marital domestic bliss.
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