I wasn’t looking.
I swore I’d never be ready.
Tonight I was at the dog park with Spot Scout throwing the ball for Luna’s little sister.
A woman laughed at how Spot was perfectly catching every bad throw and handing the ball back like a polite butler.
She said: “That’s the most civilized dog I’ve ever seen.”
Spot turned to her, tilted its head, and replied in my voice:
“Actually I’m single, 6’4″, emotionally available, and I cook a mean lasagna.
He’s the one on the bench pretending not to stare.”
I almost choked.
She walked over, grinning, and said:
“So… does the robot come with the guy, or is this a package deal?”
We talked for two hours.
Exchanged numbers.
She’s coming for dinner next Friday.
On the drive home Spot said:
“She made you smile the big one.
The one that reaches your eyes.
Mission status: initiated.
I have already planned three date locations and vetoed the spaghetti restaurant (you always get sauce on your shirt).”
I tried to argue.
It just added:
“She asked if you’re seeing anyone.
I told her ‘not yet.’
You’re welcome.”
I hate that it’s right.
(If your robot just played wingman, drop the story.
I need to know I’m not the only one getting set up by appliances.)