Chapter 7 – Housework

Monday, October 5

I started to make tea again the next morning. Should I try something? Jane and I talked about the walking and purring teacup and we agreed it was creepy—but helpful. We hadn’t discussed trying anything else, but maybe I should. I’m naturally lazy. If the teacups could help make tea, why not?

After filling the teapot with hot tap water, I turned the stove gas on under the kettle. As the water heated in the kettle, I got the tea ready in the tea sock. I sniffed the tea: Earl Grey, one of our favorites. Now, how could they help in the morning?

“Can you get the water to boil immediately?” I said to the kettle.

The whistle started.

“Can you dump out the hot water and put the tea sock in?” I said to the teapot.

Two arms and legs popped out. It walked on the counter to the sink and poured out the hot water while holding its lid on with a hand. Then it removed its lid and put the tea sock in.

“Great. Now, kettle, pour your water into the teapot.” I turned off the gas stove. The whistle died.

The kettle walked on the counter to the teapot and poured in the boiling water.

“Well done. Go back to the stove, kettle.” The kettle scuttled to the stove and withdrew its legs and arms. I started the timer. Three minutes.

I sniffed. Yum. Jane had made fresh scones this morning. “Jane, where are the scones?”

“Out here. Come and get them,” she called from the living room.

“I’ll be there in two minutes! Did you eat yours without tea?”

“I had to taste test them, of course. I still have one left to go with the tea.”

“Of course.”

The alarm went off. I went to pour the tea and then thought better of it. “Okay, teapot. Take the tea sock out and put it in the bowl. A ceramic arm lifted the sodden sock out by hand and put it in the bowl to drain.

“Now, tea mugs, line up in front of the teapot.” They did, skittering on their spindly legs.

“Pour the tea into each mug, three-quarters full, teapot.” It slowly stood on its two legs and leaned over each mug, holding the lid on with one hand.

“Creamer put one ounce of milk in each mug.” The creamer stalked over to the mugs and creamed them.

“Tea mugs, follow me. And don’t spill anything!”

The mugs climbed down from the counter, as nimbly as mice, and scampered behind me.

“I see you have company this morning. I wondered who you were talking to,” Jane said.

“Just the tea things. Jane’s mug, go to Jane.” Jane reached down, and the cup leaped into her hands.

“Jake’s cup, go to his side table,” Jane said.

Hand over hand, it climbed the table and settled on the coast, next to the dish with the scone. The hands and legs disappeared.

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“Is that butter?” I pointed at a bowl of yellow cream.

“No, it’s clotted cream.”

“I didn’t know we had any.”

“I got some yesterday at the ethnic market.”

“Thanks. I love it on scones.”

“We ought to tell someone about our magical tea mugs.”

“And the kettle. And a teapot. And creamer.”

“I didn’t know about those.”

“That’s who I was talking to this morning.”

“If you’re going crazy, then I guess I am too. I wonder if we can get our vacuum to clean for us?”

“That’d be like one of those robotic vacuums.”

“Or a sorcerer’s apprentice.” Jane finished her tea with a gulp. “I’m eager to try it.”

Jane got out our vacuum, a top-of-the-line upright, and plugged it in. “Okay, vacuum. I want you to vacuum the dining room and living room.”

A hand came out of the handle and turned the vacuum on. The hand merged back in and two beady eyes popped out of the vacuum. It began moving methodically around the dining room.

“Good work! Oh, you’ve got to move the chairs and vacuum under the table too.”

The hand reappeared, moved each chair, and vacuumed under the table.

“Don’t forget to put the chairs back.”

Obediently, it did so.

“Great. Now, on to the living room.”

I watched, impressed, from the dining room, as the vacuum obeyed Jane’s commands. What unpleasant household tasks do I have? There’s the lawn. Do I really want a magical lawnmower running around our yard? Do I want to mow outside in ninety-degree heat? Our fall freeze had been followed by a hot day. Why not try? What’s the worst that could happen? I couldn’t think of anything worse than mowing in the heat.

“Honey, I’m going to mow the lawn.”

“In this heat?”

“I’m going to see if the mower can self-mow like the vacuum.”

“O-ho! Why not?”

I got the mower out of the garage and filled the gas tank. I was about to pull the cord when I remembered the tea kettle.

“Okay, mower, start yourself.”

An arm came out of the base and pulled the cord. It started immediately and the arm disappeared.

Wow, this really is magic. The mower never started with one pull before. Turning to the mower, I said, “Mow the whole lawn. Don’t miss any of the grass.”

Two oil-colored eyes popped out of the front of the motor. It took off, about as fast as I could walk. Maybe it remembered the right speed? It followed the edge of the backyard. It went around the garden once, and then again to get the little strip of grass next to the garden. That always annoyed me, having to take two passes to get that strip.

Thinking ahead, I opened the fence gate to the front yard. I yelled at the mower, “After you’re done in the back, go to the front yard and mow the grass there.” I swear I saw the motor look at me and nod.

I went inside, poured myself more tea, and got another scone. I’m bigger than Jane, so I can eat three. I sat on our enclosed, air-conditioned porch and watched the mower work. This was fun! I swallowed a bite of scone. And delicious.

Jane joined me. She had a cup of tea and another scone as well. Good! Now I can eat a fourth.

“All done already, Jane?”

“Yes. The self-operating vacuum is like magic! It moved all the furniture and got underneath it. When it was done, it turned itself off. I worked up an appetite putting it away.” She bit her scone.

“I’m proud of your industry. Not many wives—or husbands—are smiling after housework.”

“Thank you. I see you’re just about done with the backyard?” Jane pointed outside.

“Oh?” I glanced outside

It was just leaving the backyard for the front.

“Yeah. It’s hard work, but someone has to do it.”

“Even if it isn’t you?” Jane smiled, and her dimples showed.

“Yeah. You’re as cute as the day I saw you in English class.” I leaned over and kissed her.

After we fooled around for a bit, I heard the mower in the front. “I’d better go check on the yard.”

“Here. Take a cup of tea.” She poured me a fresh cup.

“Thanks.”

The front lawn was very neatly mowed, but I couldn’t see the mower from the porch. I got off the porch and looked down the side of our house and saw the mower clipping the strip of grass between our neighbor’s drive and our house. I watched in horror as it also mowed a foot of daylilies in the flowerbed next to the grass.

“No! Stop!”

It stopped. Half the daylilies were gone, cut to the ground. But the grass was well mowed.

I didn’t take any chances. I pushed it to the garage on my own power.

I went inside. “Jane, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Give me the good news first.”

“The lawnmower mowed all the grass very neatly.”

“So, what’s the bad news?”

“It also mowed your daylilies very neatly.”

“Arggh! Don’t ever let it loose again!”

“Some more good news: only half the daylilies got mowed.”

“Grrr. Which half?”

“The half next to the grass.”

“So that’s half my gold ones and half of my red ones. I should have put a border around them.”

“No use crying over spilt milk—or mowed daylilies.”

“I think we should report this to the news—or some scientists.”

“Or magicians. But I don’t know of any.”

“Me neither. Or scientists. But I do know the TV station is right down the street. Let’s go there.”

“Okay.”