Friday, Saturday, Sunday…to my shame I cannot distinguish a difference.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday…to my shame I cannot distinguish a difference, this wild vortex called life picks us up and drags you along.  This past week dealt with some revelations, a few hard truths, in which, I am willing to share.

I am sure many of us have had this experience…

The lore of the missing sock.

The happy couple goes into the washing machine, but by the time the load makes it out of the dryer, and by the time we get around to folding the batch of mountainous laundry that continues to grow, somehow there is only a lone survivor.  A solitary sock, who not long ago had a matching partner.  A teammate now lost in the quest of warming toes.

Life’s curious mystery.

Our appliances of convenience have a compulsion that I believe must be satisfied.  A sacrifice that must rendered in appreciation for use of these amenities.  Socks seem to fit the bill, no letting of blood, just a poly-cotton blend.  It has been long implied the assumed guilt of the washing machine and dryer, the obvious partners in crime, but this week somebody new entered into the life of criminal delinquency and her name just happens to be, yes, you got it, Roomba.

Oh’ my fostered favorite child, what am I to do?

I came to find her most innocently, but shame and guilt immediately gave her away.  She had parked that cylindrical body face first into a corner and stopped.  A self-imposed time-out for villainy.  At first, I did not understand why her face was long and mood dour, and, so like many a parent I asked.

“Roomba, what is it?  Why are you over here?  You silly, little creature.”  I moved to turn her over and rub that molded plastic belly of hers, as you would your family pet and there it was; the evidence of her crimes for not only one but two completely different socks lay lodged in her under carriage.  And as you would imagine not a breath of guilt did she breathe.  Her hand had been caught in the cookie jar.

I fell to the floor beside her with my mother’s guilt and disappointment.  I’d realized I had failed my robotic vacuum.  The many temptations of life that I should have warned.  With Roomba in hand I led her to the laundry room door and knocked, it was time to meet the Maytag’s, Mr. Washer and Mrs. Dryer.  My sweet, no longer innocent, robot had a confession to make, and we both had apologies to proffer.

Send Sunshine, I hope your weekend is filled with light and laughter.

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