I didn’t enjoy sharing my research. It isn’t amusing, and I really enjoy amusing. Sooo, I’m going back to starting off and seeing where my loopy brain goes. I hope you enjoy this because it’s what works for me.
Do you already know that it’s smart to start things that can do themselves before you sit down or stand up to do something that takes your attention to accomplish? For instance, I just thought, wow, I could be watering the front flower bed, and went out and turned the water on, and now I’m back. And the water is watering. And I hope nobody from the City of Modesto reads this because we have a watering law, even though the CA drought has ended, because bureaucrats don’t think ahead much. I’m not even a numbers person, and I can figure out that when the temp goes up later this week, the snow in the mountains will become, wait for it, running water. It will fill up and run the dams over if they don’t open the flood gates. The rivers will continue to exceed the capacity of their banks. My little watering might save the whole situation, but noooooo. I can only water on Sunday and Wednesday. I guess that was more of a rant than amusing. Let me begin again.
There was this old woman who started things before she sat down to write. (Ah, here we go.) She started laundry in the washing machine, dishes in the dishwasher, and then her hubby bought her a Roomba for their 40th anniversary. A robot vacuum might not have seemed a particularly romantic gift for some women, but to this old woman it was the bomb. You see, said hubby had allowed said woman to purchase a big red Labrador Retriever she craved. Well, the big red actually started out as a wee pup, but she growed, a lot. And shed, a lot, and hubby was allergic to dog dander. Now that’s romantic, I don’t care who ya’ are.
Anyhow, the old woman set the Roomba up to vacuum Mon, Wed, Fri at 10 a.m. Presto! One of the hated housekeeping jobs a thing of the past. Or so she thought. But, she read on Facebook that a Roomba picked up an errant dog poop mess at someone else’s house and spread it from he.. to breakfast. It occurred to the old woman that she better make way for the Roomba in advance. So Mon, Wed and Fri, she blocked off the sofa so the little Ridiot wouldn’t get under there and wind itself up in electrical cords, and she made sure the floors didn’t have any extraneous stuff like: shoes, dog tie downs, carelessly tossed towels, papers, etc (like poop, although red dog is accomplished at pooping outside). She made sure the doors to the rooms she wanted vacuumed were open and the doors to the rooms she didn’t were closed. Somewhere in the midst of this, she wondered whether she was saving time, but there was the not pushing the old vacuum around. When the Ridiot vacuumed the room the red dog slept in, she tried to ignore that she had to empty the little receptacle of dog hair five times before it finished.
Then came the day that Red Dog inadvertently wrapped her leash around the old woman’s feet as she was headed for the frig with a pot of barbecued ribs the old man had made for Mother’s Day. Just as the pot hit the floor, she heard the familiar whir of the Ridiot revving up for a cleaning spree. The leash was still wrapped around her feet, and she could feel her balance going. She grabbed the door of the frig, which sprang open and Red Dog now stood looking in confusion at the ribs on the floor and the fried chicken on the bottom shelf of the frig. Clearly, she couldn’t decide which way to jump. The old woman heard the whir coming closer, and she grabbed for Red Dog’s collar to unwind her, just as Red Dog decided the ribs were the more sure bet of the two. She lunged forward, the woman missed her collar, and the leash became a noose around her feet. She hung on to the frig door for dear life as the dog gnawed ribs and the Ridiot whirred closer. When the Ridiot appeared at the kitchen door, Red Dog looked up and, barbecue sauce making kind of a horror movie grin on her face, reached over and put a stopping paw on top of the Ridiot. “Beep! Beep! Error! Please move Roomba to a new location and clear her wheels.” Red Dog picked up her foot. The Ridiot headed straight for the barbecue sauce and rib strewn floor. What could the old woman do? She threw herself down between the ribs and the Ridiot, sacrificing herself for the sake of avoiding twelve hours or so of cleaning. Now this could go on, but the old woman has to get on with the revision of her WIP, so we’ll just say, the moral of the story is: ummm, Stay off the sauce? Or, multi-tasking can have drawbacks. Or, never move food with a dog in the room?