Paris the Floor Whore

Meet Paris, our robot vacuum cleaner. Say hi, Paris.

Hey, sexy. You're so hot! Wanna make a home movie with me?
Just buy me a miniature chihuahua...

Oi! Stop it! God, she's such a tart!

Bloke bought her a few weeks back, by mail order. Just like a Russian/Nigerian bride who steals all your money and lets her brothers try to kill you. "But awww!" I hear you say. "Your husband bought you a robot vacuum cleaner! He doesn't want you to have to slave over a hot Hoover every weekend. That's so sweet!"

If only. It's actually Bloke who does the Hoovering in our house. The huge amount of cat wool that blows about the place gives me the very unattractive combination of sneeze and wheeze when I sweep. Well done me for wanting a cat when I was clearly allergic, eh?

Not that cleaning at our place is really Hoovering, of course. We have jarrah flooboards all through the house, with various terracotta tiling in the bathroom and laundry and a couple of tribal-type rugs around the place. It's usually just a matter of sweeping up the kitty fluff, beach sand, grass seeds, purple fluff-balls from kitty's blanket, etc. Sometimes we manage to sweep up enough grey fur to make a spare kitty, but we try not to let him know. Otherwise, he'd get jealous.

Apart from the fact that Bloke doesn't care for sweeping, there's also the small problem that he's... well... a nerd. An extremely talented nerd, but a nerd nontheless - he builds flight simulators. (Yes, obviously he got all the brains in the family. I know that.) But when he saw robot vacuum cleaners, he was rather taken and he and his mate decided they'd each get one. As you do.

From the moment the little tart arrived in the house, I hated her. She's actually called Roomba and she tools about the place on her own, bouncing off couches, skirting boards and door frames, doing her slutty, slutty thing. Bloke set her off when Mr F and I were in the kitchen and she went straight for us, the miserable little bitch! The cat went into feline meltdown and I, luddite that I am, kicked her in the head when she tried to eat the lace of one of my Chucks. She didn't care. She just tooled off in the other direction into the dining room and started licking under the table. Homewrecker!

For a while, she was called Doughy, short for the Doughnut from Mars. But then I pointed out that she was also a bit of a gutter-dwelling skank who went about licking our floors. I mean, really! She sucks up crumbs and cat fur and dropped peas and tiny vestiges of nastiness from the bathroom. I just can't have any respect for her. She just seems to enjoy it too much. Bloke pointed out that she was also vacuous and the name Paris just stuck. We tried to get his mate to name his Britney or Lindsay, but I don't think he went for it.

Anyway, ever since she arrived, Bloke has been visiting the websites of other Roomba-owning nerds. She comes with a remote control, so one of said nerds dressed his up in green and played Frogger across a highway with her. As you do. I've suggested that Bloke teach it how to make his dinner of an evening and then I'll be entirely redundant.

But meanwhile, in other news chez Hack and Bloke, we've had the first ant attack of the summer in the kitchen. I dragged my sorry arse in from some Christmas booze-up or other the other night and found the kitchen swarming with sodding ants. I smacked hell out of three or four dozen of the little bastards, Baygoned a few dozen more and then passed out cold. Only to find them back on Saturday morning, wrapping their laughing gear all over my honey jar. No, that's not a euphemism. Shame on you!

Anyway, I'm not sure why, but I'm just not convinced that having an ant army attacking my kitchen is the funnest-fun-fun way of starting a weekend. Miserable little bastards. But at least when I smashed them into oblivion and their mangled corpses fell on the floor, Paris sucked 'em up.

Pity I can't send her out the back to suck up the arse-end of a mouse that Mr F left on the back lawn as either a warning or a loving gift. Oh well, I guess a vaucous tart can only do so much.