Dear Roomba,

How I do love thee. I love how you do your duty so regularly, every afternoon while I am at work. I’m not there monitoring your work, telling you not to cut corners. I’m not there, but do you spend the day surfing the web or watching TV? No, you are loyal.

You keep chugging along, day after day. No matter what bumps this hard knock life throws you. The bathmat in the guest bath that is just a little too fluffy, you work it out. The dog that keeps shedding day after day and occasionally growls when you get a little too close, no fear. And that bobbin of thread you sucked up on Monday, all I can say is wow. How you sucked it up in your belly, really, I will never know. And the bobbins red thread wrapped around your brushes like some crazed CSI serial killer, you survived.

But, Roomba we need to talk.

Sometimes you don’t make it home at night. I know it can be hard to find your way home in this palatial suburban estate, navigating 2200 sf of luxurious carpets and hardwood floors. At first I thought it was all my fault – getting stuck on the People magazine I carelessly tossed on the floor; getting strung up in an extension cord I forgot to put away.

Lately I have begun to question this guilt. At first it was the 2 nights in a row I found you carousing with the desk in the den, all wrapped up in his legs like a cheap prom date. Or the night I found you passed out under the couch, just a few feet from your home. Don’t get me wrong Roomba; I have been there. Its called college, and come on, aren’t we a little old for that?

And now Roomba, you have gone on what fear is your last bender. Last night you were gone again. Surprise. But this time you were nowhere to be found. Not stuck behind the toilet. Not passed out in the closet surrounded by shoes (Man, have I been there). Not even in the kitchen, gorged on the makings of last night dinner, carelessly brushed to the floor by the husband. Gone. Vanished. Do I call the FBI? Ask for there missing robot division? But come on, I watch that “Without a trace” show, your past is too checkered for them to care. One interview with the bathmat and they would know, you are just out partying.


Roomba, please come home. We miss you. Even the dog misses you. Tonight I will organize a more thorough search. But after checking your usual haunts, who only know what you are up to.

And in the future, ff you need to blow off some steam, or take a “mental health” day, you just let me know. I’ll come home a little early and we can mix up a batch of margaritas and kick up our feet (or dirt baskets, whatever). Roomba, I am here for you. Really, lets fix this.