My Robots

This is actually a post on Universal Basic Income, a concept which sends the Wife around the bend, but I’ll get to that.  It turns out I spend a lot of time with a robot named Peggy because the wooden dowels I gave her are all she has for gams.

Peggy has no working parts and yet has become integral to our little operation where I am employed, again with the Wife.  Peggy waits sometimes for days, patiently and without a word, probably because she doesn’t have a head, until the lights suddenly come on, she is dressed with the latest fashions and photographed for the internet.

I don’t know if Peggy has a family.  She never even goes home, probably because she has no legs, but I try not to discriminate against the disabled.  I assume the Wife is paying her something, but it’s none of my business.  She never complains.

Last week,  I mowed the yard (cut the grass at the country club) at both places (Liberty is a killer) and pretty much fell victim to all the weed and feed I put out.  Oh look, it’s finally raining.    Both my robot mowers saved me from having to deal with an otherwise problem.  I love these guys.  They’re MVPs every time out, for just a shot of gasoline.

Yesterday (my only day off, but don’t feel sorry for me), I got up around 8, wandered outside and started weeding the raised beds and watering everything.  By the time the Wife showed up outside, I was unloading the utility room and running the ShopVac (the Wife called me one Friday night, many years ago, and told me a customer’s colostomy bag had burst at the register, and we cleaned it up, so I cherish this device).   While she got ready to go adventuring in the Fun Machine, I continued vacuuming the patio, which was being mercilessly assaulted with tree stuff.

The Fun Machine (1999 VW Cabrio, AKA Barbie Car) verily leaped at the opp to put the top down and chariot the Wife and I to literally nowhere for a couple of hours on a gorgeous day.  We returned, having visited Chili’s (no fucking shit, you have to try it), the Village Tavern (meh), and two Dollar Trees (please kill me.)

So yeah, I got lots of robots upon whom I depend, and I’m forgetting a lot of very important ones.  They’re all incredibly modest unsung heroes and I love them dearly (don’t even get me started on my computers and guitars).

Problem is the Wife is not a robot and I never know what she’s gonna do or say.  Since we work together and I’m her robot, I spend Monday through Wednesday or Thursday nights in Liberty with my robots, with whom I’m very happy.

I enjoy weekends at her place, where there are three feral cats spoiled beyond belief, and they are anything but robots.

Honorable mention goes to washers, dryers, fridges, ovens, HVAC systems and water heaters (sooted up coupling fixed in mere seconds, which was a lot fucking shorter than the time it took me to move all the stuff out and vacuum).

Did I mention I love my ShopVac?

Oh yeah, I never got around to UBI.  Aren’t you glad?

 

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