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I saw the neatest thing on TV this morning.

It seems we are about to become a Robot nation, and I think I could deal with some of it. There was this one robot who had big puppy eyes that really looked sorrowful. He was pleading with those baby blues (yeah, really, blue eyes) to put him to work. He had long arms which could be used to get things off a high shelf, or bend over to put things on a low shelf. I’m not sure if he could run the vacuum cleaner, but I’m thinking if you hitched him up to a wagon, there would be some powerful vacuuming going on.

He could hold a dust cloth (or dust rag in our southern vernacular, or wash rag or drying rag. They are all rags because our people refuse to throw anything away. We were recycling long before recycling became fashionable). I’m not sure if he could dust the finer porcelain items on my what-not shelves, I might have to do that myself, but he could certainly dust the coffee tables, the TV screen, and other flat surfaces that are not cluttered — decorated — with all my lovely things. Hmm, now he is rolling those baby blues, do I really want one more thing in here that rolls its eyes?

You know, not only my children are prone to eye rolling, the man of the house and a couple of the cats are eye rollers too. My favorite Bill Cosby line was always, “don’t you roll those eyes at me (muttering beneath breath), I’ll roll that little head.” No, no eye rollers wanted here. And I have a sneaking suspicion it may be a whiner, too. Can’t bear a whiner or anything else I may have to pick up after.

So, the other robot is for people who are interested in their health. I’m interested in my health, else why do I take that suitcase load of medicine everyday? This robot takes the information you feed into its memory, like what you had for breakfast, then it breaks it down into caloric value, fat value and cholesterol value. To start out, you put what you had for breakfast into it. OK, here goes, one slice of whole wheat toast, 1/2 teaspoon butter, one teaspoon sugar free jelly, one cup of coffee, two teaspoons of skim milk and one boiled egg. Uh huh. Then the amount of exercise you have done for that morning. It breaks that down into how many calories were burned and how much weight loss you can expect after four weeks. So, here goes. Ran two miles, one mile up road, one mile back. Worked out on exercise machine for 20 minutes. Vacuumed living room because lazy robot claims he doesn’t have any legs to work machine. I told you, it’s a whiner. I hate whiners.

OK, sure, I ate nothing, and worked like a fiend and it’s not even 9 a.m.? So what if, just what if, now, I put the whole truth and nothing but the truth, in the health robot? OK, plate of grits with butter, three strips of bacon, one fried egg, one biscuit with a tablespoon of honey. Grab another biscuit, that one was so good with honey, let’s try the new pear jam that Joanne made. Oh yeah, baby, now that is good. OK, so now to enter the exercise I got since getting out of bed this morning. Got out of bed, turned on TV, turned on coffee pot, wandered around kitchen looking for new bag of cat food so I can feed them and shut them up, sat on edge of couch, yawning and attempting to keep eyes open while coffee maker drips at least one cup of coffee into the pot, steal first cup of coffee (man that’s strong) from pot, lean against wall and wonder why I’m up at 6 a.m.

So what have I accomplished since getting up? I’ve contemplated putting into my home one more thing to take care of (I can just see that robot helper now with bursitis and a headache) and something else to lie to about my healthy lifestyle. Why import a robot to lie to when I lie to myself so well?

— Sandi McBride is a resident of Jefferson, who blogs regularly and enjoys her garden and her furry and feathered friends. She is a wife and mother of two sons.