Robots are my Friends

I am washing my kitchen floor, right now, as we speak. Really. While channel surfing (yes, women do that too – especially after your cable company switches nearly every single channel on you - I asked them for a *list* of the new channels for my collection), I ended up glued to a TV shopping network selling the irobot scooba.

Now, I already own four roombas. I love them. They are my friends. They are more loyal than dogs, and I don’t have any vet bills, or have to feed them, or clean up their pee and poo. They vacuum my floors, even under the bed, the couch and anything else they can fit their sleek little forms under. They never complain. They just move around the room, happy little campers, picking up dirt. They even get extra happy when they “detect dirt” and shine a happy blue light.

They “speak” to me to let me know when they are sick. They beep..beep…beep, beep, beep, beep. Sometimes they are just tired, and need some “juice” ~ much like children, but unlike children, they find their way to “bed” on their own to recharge. Once they have slept, they are ready to go find more dirt ~ also much like children. Sometimes, they are frustrated because they are stuck which results in a sad little beeping. They must think that they are cats, and can fit into any small space, but they cannot, silly little robots.

They are also very smart. They know that the stairs are right there, and don’t go down that nasty, robot killing mountain. One of my daughter's friends, however, maintains that their roomba committed suicide by throwing itself down the stairs. They have three dogs with long hair, so I can certainly understand how the poor creature felt. My son, that little darling, used his remarkable intellect and talents to play a dirty trick on me one day. I had set roomba to clean our upstairs hall, and then went downstairs into the kitchen. Little darling (my son, that is), pounded down the stairs and dropped a dictionary on the floor. OH! My poor little roomba I thought. What have I done to make you so upset, I thought while rushing to the stairs where I found my son laughing his little butt off. I was not amused (at least in his presence).

Two of my four roombas have, dear me, died. One, the original model, just died of old age. One of the newer ones was very unhappy and beeping while moving about in tiny circles. I called irobot customer service to complain that they had sold me a roomba with a drinking problem. He (all of my little robots are male because I think that it is just fitting) had a broken wheel. The best part was that I got a whole new roomba for my collection for free because he was still under warrantee. I wish children came with warrantees.

When we got our first roomba, it was a family event. We all just stared at the little thing going in all directions cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. My husband remarked that this was sort of defeating the purpose of saving time if we all just stood and stared at it all of the time. I said that robotics was educational. When we got our second roomba (the one with the drinking problem), he came with a remote. Oh joy, a whole new play toy. My children just loved that gizmo. Crumble up a cookie on the carpet, and just grab a remote. They also found that they could really torture the dogs with that remote. Somehow, the remote went missing ~ into my underwear drawer, a place that no child dares venture a peek. I am so very smart.

I have kept my two dearly departed roombas so that my son can take them apart to his little heart’s content. I am hoping that this will keep him from taking apart our motorized lawn tools and my husband's power tools. Mostly, I am hoping that he can figure out how to mate them, and make a brand new baby roomba that can wash my carpets. Wouldn’t that be great!

I think that the people who invented roomba must have really liked the old cartoon show, "The Jetsons." Roombas are no Rosies, but they are nifty little darlings. I want to go to the irobot headquarters to personally thank them because Robots are my friends.