Man of the house

Ladies and gentlemen: allow me to introduce Cedric: 

I finally broke down on Prime Day and ordered a Roomba. I’ve been wanting one for bleepin’ ever.

Cedric and I are getting to know one another, and I have to dredge out the password to my wi-fi network to get him to operate optimally. (Also—man, but you have to lift all the cords and cables out of his way so he doesn’t get all bolixed up in them.) The other day I closed him up in a bedroom where I wanted him to concentrate his efforts. I forgot about him and then wondered about all the bumping sounds I was hearing in that direction; for a while I wondered what my neighbor was up to until I remembered he was at work.

When I announced my desire some time ago on Facebook, I said that I wanted one that could also mop and climb up on the furniture to dust. My friend, the Viking Maiden, laughed and said, “That’s a maid!”

Well, she’s right—and Cedric does not mop. But he’s a start.