My Buddy

Okay, yes I talk to him.In my defense, I talk to everyone . . .A year ago, Son #3 and Husby went together to buy me a gift.I should explain here that I am very difficult to buy gifts for. Being of a very practical mind set, any gift presented to me needs to be the same. Practical. Oh, I will admit that the occasional bouquet of flowers will definitely not be thrown out, but tenderly interred in a vase until such time as they have gone the way of all the earth.At which time they willbe thrown out.Ahem . . .Husby, on the other hand, loves to give gifts. And practicality is not a requirement.In fact, when choosing something for me, he goes out of his way to find ‘something else’ that isn’t for home or yard.But he has learned in our over forty years of marriage, that when I say I want a new frying pan for Christmas, a new frying pan is what will make me happy.Back to the gift purchased by Husby and Son #3.A few years ago, someone—may I call them genius?—invented a vacuum that doesn’t need anyone to operate it. Independent and effective, it bounces back and forth around the room until every single surface has been swept clean.It’s remarkably effective.At least that is what I saw on the TV spot.And decided I wanted. On the spot.To clean up the messy spots in my house.Okay, now I’m seeing spots.Moving on . . .I pointed. “That is what I want for Christmas!”Husby countered with his patented, “But I want to get something for you!”To which I replied, “That is for me!”Nothing more was said. Until Christmas morning when the box, partially-wrapped as per Son #3’s penchant, was set on the floor in front of me.Frenzied removal of the woefully inadequate wrapping.Exclamations of surprise and delight.The reading of instructions.And the immediate putting to work of my new right-hand man. ‘Buddy’, as he was dubbed, from that moment, did the one job in my house I have always loathed.Vacuuming. My affection for him was instant and long-lasting.Daily, he bustles around the house, doing a remarkably effective job of removing visible dirt and icky stuff.He has even been known to find lost puzzle pieces.There are a couple of drawbacks.And we have finally come to the point of my story . . .Buddy was vacuuming.I was in my office. Writing.Buddy came in and proceeded to bump into things.I got up and left for a moment.Then heard the ‘alert’ sound from my beloved helper. Followed by an immediate power down.I hurried back to the room.Only to discover that Buddy had eaten the cord of a charger. Causing instant indigestion.Chastising him vocally, I carried him out to the kitchen to perform the necessary cord-ectomy. Picture it: Upending the unit. Removal of the rollers that prove so effective in home maintenance. Removal of said cord. Emptying of all tanks and reservoirs and unexpected storage places.Reinstalling of rollers.Uprighting.And sending back to work.The whole time, keeping up a steady stream of: “You silly boy! Don’t you know that cords only make you sick? Where did you find this? And a button! Oh, good, I was looking for that one.” And once he was back on the floor, a final word: “Now stay out of trouble!”My granddaughter was watching the whole operation. As Buddy buzzed off, she looked at me. “Gramma. You were talking to the vacuum.”I nodded as I washed my hands.“Gramma, that’s weird.”I thought of the times I had fished Buddy out of yet another scrape. Most notably getting stuck in the bathroom. (We may possibly have the cleanest bathroom floor in the world.)I talked to him then as well.Granddaughter went on, “Gramma, you shouldn’t talk to things.”Well then someone probably shouldn’t have put eyes on him!Just FYI.