A Belated Introduction to Scoot

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Gentlemen, there are certain presents that I hope by now you know you never, ever buy your gal for Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries or any other reason that you think you should be presenting your partner with something wrapped up and topped with a bow. These would include:

– a George Foreman grill

– anything leather that is not a designer purse

–  anything that is your idea of sleepwear. They are NOT the same thing as our idea of sleepwear.

-any appliance that requires any effort on her part.

Now, don’t go spreading this rumor around, but between you and me, sometimes husbands get it right. Sometimes. Not often, of course, not that we would let them know this, then what would they have to strive for anymore? Give them a lofty, relatively too-high goal to aspire to, and keep them reaching their entire lives, that’s what I say.

Ok, not really. I wouldn’t say that out loud, cause then I wouldn’t get prezzies.

Like Scoot. Meet Scoot, my new Roomba.

Oh Scooty  Scoot Scoot. I really truly kinda love you.

Is it weird to love a Robot?

Roomba’s are completely ok to buy your better half. Scoot cleans my floor for me. I push a button. I think that we can file this under “I barely lift a finger” and call it a day.

Sniffle….just look at how that little sucker cleans my living room up. Gawd. If he had a pulse, I’d marry him.

And this is for the girls at work, who of course, hear everything in my life. More than I blog, can you believe it? Look, there really isn’t much for entertainment at work, so we indulge in an old-fashioned form of communication….

…talking. Lots n’ lots of talking.

I know, it’s a very antiquated concept. We can’t text because our cellphones don’t work downstairs by the morgue, (yes, loverly place to work) and thus we actually have to turn to each other and talk.

We would email, but that would be using company property for personal use. Nu-uh. Not us. No one is going to be  Dooced here, thankee kindly.

So. We talk.

And whilst talking, I of course, mentioned that the husband was in my very, very good books for my Christmas present. And everyone wanted to know how well he works.Scoot that is. He is a persona grata and deserved a name.

And so….

before, the craft mess that my children generally leave around the table area.

And after. With flash. I forgot to take a picture and just whipped out the camera before the kids came to seek and destroy, and then no one believed what a good job my l’il buddy does.