A Roomba Love Story

Although I generally believe it’s important to keep some elements of one’s personal life private, I also believe that when you’re in love, it’s totally acceptable to share that fact. So here we go, folks. I got a Roomba for Christmas – and I’m totally smitten.

Okay, it’s not actually a Roomba. It’s a different brand. But “Roomba” is really fun to say. Thus, I have a Roomba.

I know there are a million jokes out there about the perils of buying women appliances for major holidays, but I think that ban really only applies to Valentine’s Day, at which time it’s important to stick to flowers, chocolates, and jewelry. For Christmas, on the other hand, there is no better gift than a device that makes my life easier.

Cleaning is not my forte. I’m not a very tidy person by nature so my house often has a decidedly “lived in” quality to it. By which I mean that the odds of finding children’s underwear on the living room floor are pretty high and there may or may not be toilet paper in the bathroom. Also, my dining room chairs are often sticky.

I’m really not sure how three children can drop quite so many crumbs during every single meal, but the reality is the hardwood floor in my dining room tends to crunch when you walk on it.

Enter, my new robot vacuum, whom my children have inexplicably named “Bobby.” Bobby the Roomba is a pretty cool dude. He putters around the house, making contended electronic noises while sucking up bits of crackers, dirt, leaves, and tiny surplus LEGO pieces.

Now, before you worry about me, let me reassure you that I do not have a dog and thus should be safe from some of the unintended mishaps that can arise when combining mechanized floor cleaning and canine companions. Just google “Roomba Poop Disaster” if you’re not sure what I’m referring to.

In any case, although he occasionally gets stuck under the recliner and once wound himself up thoroughly in the Christmas tree skirt, Bobby the Roomba has been a welcome addition to the family. In fact, when it comes to cleaning, I can say with confidence that I prefer him to any of my children.

Whereas Bobby the Roomba works well with minimal supervision, my children are incapable of putting so much as their shoes away without constant verbal affirmation (which sounds something like “put them away now, now, NOW”). Cleaning your house when you have small children is like playing the world’s most infuriating game of whack-a-mole. The moment you have one area cleaned and turn your attention to another, random kid crap magically appears in your wake. I am constantly battling a steady influx of books, hairbrushes, hats, snack wrappers, and art supplies.

Although Bobby the Roomba cannot put away my children’s lunchboxes, his presence in my home is much appreciated. I may even buy him flowers on Valentine’s Day.

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