Tom, I hope you’re reading this. Because I’m never going to admit any of it out loud.
I love our Roombas. I thought Tom was crazy for buying the second one, and almost had a heart attack when I opened the box containing the third (“But it was only $20!”). But I have to admit that I really, really like them.
Like now. I wanted to get some writing done (this counts as writing, right?) but have also been neglecting housework since I’ve been spending time with B and K’s family and the new arrival. The laundry and dishes do themselves, right? So does the vacuuming. Our kitchen floor is a mess of dog hair and instead of being in there right now pushing around our hundred-ton Hoover, I’m here writing this blog post (and procrastinating writing anything of real value). Later I will set the other one up in the bedroom while I’m folding clothes and, in a matter of only about ten minutes or so, will be back in here to “write” (or maybe actually write) some more.
So yes, I may complain about them being loud. I may complain about Tom cleaning them or servicing them or taking them apart instead of doing other housework. But they are pretty useful. And kinda cute too.
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