I apparently have costochondritis again, and the other night, P. and I were on the futon watching TV (again) and I was whining about my chest pain (yes, again) and P. wondered if maybe the futon was making it worse.
“Yes, I think it is. When we move, we should get a really big comfortable couch.”
P. didn’t look convinced. He countered, “maybe we should just get a bed for the living room.”
And then we looked at each other, both on the edge of epiphany–
“The bed with the remote!”
“The old people! The adjustable one!”
P. looked a little worried. (You would think from my suggestion that we get adjustable old people, but no.)
“Maybe we shouldn’t live together. We encourage each other’s laziness. We might never leave the house again.”
Which is to say that if you never hear from me again, P. and I were so comfortable in our adjustable bed in front of the wide screen HDTV that we were unable to get up and forage for food and we couldn’t convince anyone to bring us anything and in our folly (er, laziness), we perished.
P. thinks we should get a monkey butler. But I’m not cool with the monkeys. They give me the wig. Ever since I was little. So, we’re waiting for robot technology to advance. We don’t want it to advance quite so much that the robots get smarter than us and take over our spaceships and kill us in the dark void or grow us in pods and trick us into living in a dream world or start violating the three laws of robotics or anything. We just want the robots to bring us beer and snacks.
Maybe we should get a clapper too. I’m not sure if the robots would be tall enough to operate the light switch.