There was always something that needed cleaning. The surfaces seemed to manufacture their own grime. Wet grime, dry grime. Dust, sludge etc.
And some of that debris was far above her paygrade. Like the slice of pizza wedged between the couch cushions for however long before it got dislodged during a late night hunt for the remote. The trail of unwashed boxer shorts on the staircase was the last straw, though. Who even does that? And for the love of all things good and holy, why?
This couldn't continue. She had to tell him.
She glided into his room, found him lying on the floor in a circle of beer bottles and screamed the words at him, “I AM NOT YOUR MAID!!”
He opened his eyes, looked around the room and finally down at her.
“Roomba…was that you???”
I suspect moments like this may trigger the robot revolution. I hope not but honestly you never know..
But anyway, head on over here for the details and prompt to write your own freewrite today.
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