It’s Saturday so that means a Day of Adulting. All the things I have to put off (or simply couldn’t conjure up the energy to deal with) I do on the weekend. Groceries, laundry, housework. All the boring stuff that sucked all the coolness from your parents, turning them into the Weather Channel groupies they became.
I have a roomba. It was the one thing I demanded on getting when we moved into the new house. I figured with a house full of cats, I deserved a roomba.
Little did I know that roombas are like having a blind butler that wants to help but, frankly, I’d get more done with a freaking broom.
Still, I have one so I use it. I glued big googly eyes on it to give it personality.
So, today I turned it on and let it waddle around the living room and kitchen, bouncing off legs of chairs and corners. Bless it.
I plugged in the Big Vacuum Cleaner, Ol’ Blue, the terror of all the four leggeds in the house, and got down to work. I had nearly finished the rug when Ol’ Blue suddenly stopped working. I stepped on the power button but nothing happened.
I heard the roomba.
I looked over at the plug.
The roomba was running back and forth over the cord, unplugging Ol’ Blue from the wall.
Rivalry is real, y’all.