Mother and Roomba

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I got one of those miraculous little robot vacuum sweepers that scurries around getting dust bunnies, dog hair, and cleaning spots I routinely neglect.  I love it.  All you have to is empty the little dust bin and unwind the dog hair off the rotary brush after each use.  It can even be set to run during the night.  The little genius even docks itself to recharge.  It has a little laser light device to fence it into a room.  I run it in the front rooms during the night and do the hall and bedrooms during the day.  One day I fooled around and left it barred in my bedroom under the bed so it couldn’t redock.  It kicked off at midnight and scared the crap out of me.  That was exciting!

Mother is hostile to technology.  She does her floors with a straw broom and stringmop the God way intended. She is even suspicious of a sponge mop.  The robot vacuum is totally baffling to her.  She can’t fathom how it knows how clean to the entire area. I couldn’t make her understand repetitive random movements.  It was no help at all when Bud told her it made a computerized map, then dropped it in my lap to explain his lie.  I will have to knock his little bitty brains out.

 

 

That’s Their Problem

Nutsrok

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Mother has three closets jammed with clothes.  Last time I counted, she had thirty-two outfits with tags.  Last Sunday when she stopped by to score a meal, she was sporting this stylish ensemble.  Since it was a tad nippy, she’d donned the purple, long-sleeved shirt I’d given her when she got caught without a sweater at my house several years ago.  As you can see, it’s extremely roomy. Paired with these charming cropped pants she’s been wearing for at least ten years, she was really styling.  For a finishing touch, she slipped into ankle-high nylons and loafers, accessorized by her pedometer, since her current obsession is walking.

I couldn’t help remarking, “Mother, you do know that’s a hideous outfit, don’t you?”

“I don’t care!  I’m old enough to wear what I want to,” was her reply.

“Okay, but you know since you’re past eighty, people may get the impression you…

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