This morning (Sunday), the kids are irritating me a little bit. I can't understand why I am here, shampooing them and serving them Trader Joe's coffee cake, instead of getting a salon pedicure while reading my latest guilty-pleasure Target novel. Something has gone awry.
At times like these, the single mother has to dig deep into her emotional reserves and use her robot voice.
Like annoying-nerd couple Michael and Holly of The Office, my daughter and I sometimes converse in robot voices. Today (though not always) she started it, getting out of the tub and saying, in an electro-synth voice worthy of an 80's dance song: "Please get me a towel."
"Affirmative. Here is your towel." The words are not important. In fact, to say something interesting in a robot voice would miss the point.
This continued into the kids' room ("Please find me some clothes"), where my son was propped in bed,
I turned around and machine-gunned him into oblivion.
"Did I mention I was a killer robot?"
After a moment of surprise, my son thought this was just hilarious. All of us had a good laugh -- the first all morning between two tiresome children and their cranky mom.
"If you think something bad about a killer robot," I bleeped, on a roll, "keep it to yourself. Or it will go poorly for you."
This seemed to cheer everyone up, and pretty soon we're off to haircuts. Word.
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