On a mission. Sadly, pas de champagne.

She looked up from her phone and glanced at me from the side, “I’m sending Ted out.”

Taking a sip of my afternoon’s Negroni, I repeated the statement as a question to confirm, “You’re sending Ted out?”

“Yes,” she said while looking at her device and tapping the screen. The late-afternoon sun rays bowed at her feet.

“Shall I get a bottle of champagne,” I inquired enthusiastically. After-all it’s not every day we launch Ted out into the world. And it’s 5:34pm, what better excuse to start imbibing on a Thursday evening (otherwise known to me as California Friday)?

“Shall we sing?” I didn’t wait for an answer and burst into song while she stared intensely at her phone…

“Over there. Over there! Send the word over there. Over there! Ted is coming…” She didn’t wait for me to finish and without changing the trajectory of her attention—not event the slightest of another side glance—she muttered, “You suck.”

And then Ted—our new robot vacuum machine—started its journey on a mission to the back bedroom. Surely mentally preparing in 1s and 0s to wage war with twenty eight thousand, nine hundred and sixty-two cat hairs nestled into the trenches of our carpet.

Godspeed Ted, bon voyage! Domo arigato Mr Roboto! Please mind the pair of Nike’s I left at the foot of the bed and sorry for any inconvenience.