My Mother’s Day gift from Gerry this year was a roomba vacuum a.k.a. “da wobot” by my 2-year-old grandson Eli. “I not skowed (scared) of da wobot,” he claims as he runs over to it and turns it on right after he comes in the door to visit “gwammy.” But as soon as the roomba heads in his direction, Eli scrambles up onto the nearest chair with a look of panic on his face.
Since vacuuming is a chore I have always enjoyed — it beats cleaning toilets! — I was still quite loyal to my trusty old electrolux and not over-eager to put her out to pasture. That faithful appliance has seen me through many moves, some huge building projects, hairy dogs, filthy vehicles and acres of flooring. And she just won’t die — not unlike my 28-year-old Maytag washer I finally had to give away after burning through four dryers without having to replace the washer. I digress…
Well I tried to be appreciative of the roomba — for the sake of the “roomba giver,” to whom I am somewhat emotionally attached also — so I would run it a little each day. I must confess it irritated me as it hummed around, back and forth, to and fro, endlessly circling and zig-zagging a room in order to clean it. “Sheesh! I could have vacuumed the whole neighborhood by now,” I smugly thought as I finished up the supper dishes and dodged the pesky beast as it continuously bonked my toes like a hungry motherless lamb looking for milk.
When no one else was home I often sneaked out the trusty old warrior and took her for a quick spin up and down the stairs, behind the toilets and into the corners where the hi-tech roomba couldn’t go. I still loved the old machine and wasn’t too fond of the interloper…until the day I opened the broom closet where the electrolux is stored and found little roomba snuggled up against her. For some reason, even though the roomba is programmed to return to her docking station after cleaning a room, she had found her way into the closet and fallen asleep snuggled up to her “grandmother.” Aaahhh….
Hope for the Rest of Us 