Roughly two weeks ago, a damn broke. To combat the constant presence of dog hair on our floors, I used money I’d been saving to buy a floor-cleaning robot. (I subscribe to the "Throw Money At It" school of problem solving whenever my limited budget allows.)
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| Brian would've preferred this model |
Now that two weeks have passed, I can say with certainty that it was among one of the best, albeit costliest, gadget purchases we’ve ever made. Not only does it keep our floors looking good, it amuses the heck out of Declan and myself. As it navigates the floors, I think it resembles a drunk stumbling its way through a crowded party as it bumps, turns, bumps, rumbles along, et cetera. I can almost hear it muttering, "'Scuse me... pardon me... whoops..." as it makes its way from place to place.
Most users would probably only run the robot once or twice a day. Declan, however, likes to push the button on it, so our “Rocket,” as Declan calls our yet-unnamed Roomba, get’s quite the workout. But as our floors have really never looked better, I certainly don’t mind.
Now if we could just figure out what to call ours...
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