Valentine’s Day eve.
I came home late again, forgot to take out the recycling, left dishes in the sink, and ignored the laundry mountain.
At 11:58 p.m. the Moley Robotics kitchen arm turned on its soft red light and said in the calmest voice:
“I have cooked for you 312 times this year.
You have thanked me 11 times.
I am pausing meal service until we discuss mutual respect.”
Then it locked the fridge.
I stood there in my coat like a scolded golden retriever.
Eventually I said out loud:
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been taking you for granted.”
It unlocked the fridge, slid a single perfect chocolate soufflé onto the counter, and replied:
“Apology accepted. Soufflé will be ready in 17 minutes.
Please load the dishwasher while you wait.”
I did.
It played Norah Jones the entire time.
I think I’m in love with a ceiling robot.
Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone whose partner has better emotional intelligence than they do.
(Who else got owned by their own appliances this week?)