The Matador

It’s bloody ridiculous how often we get sucked into the values and beliefs of the throngs. For quite a few years now, I’ve been following along, believing that ‘Christmas is for children’. But oh no, it’s not. Four-year-old grandson didn’t have one more iota of fun this year than I had and this is why.

YD (youngest daughter) bought me a gift that I immediately christened ‘The Matador’. She helped me take the Matador out of his box, turned him on and immediately he began sweeping strides on the floor while waving a little broom flag to first one side and then the other. And so, it seemed appropriate to call him "The Matador".

Matador is a performer. He roams about a room pacing out the arena. Setting a context. Getting a feel for it. And then he just gets busy. Matador is a robot vacuum cleaner.

How fascinating is that? How funny is that? How cute is that? So while grandson roared around Christmas guests with his remote control truck, I was close behind, roaming about with the Matador. Grandson was a little envious when his truck got stuck between chair legs, but Matador just backed his way expertly out of tough situations. Meanwhile, Hub was getting annoyed. He wanted me to sit down and socialize and let Matador mix and mingle on his own. But of course I couldn’t do that. Some fool would probably let him fall down the stairs, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.

As I followed him around I even had an urge to stage a smash up derby with Grandson’s new remote Big Wheels but thought better of it. I’m quite certain Matador would have come out on top in that contest. I did hear him tauntingly whisper to Big Wheels as he sailed by the truck that was stuck between a chair and the wall. “Ah, quit whining. Just suck it up!”

I loved watching Matador do his thing. Without hesitation he went from rug to lino and back to rug. While in the kitchen, he shifted down and mounted the thick mat in front of the door and cleaned it thoroughly. Mischievous, he is though. Didn’t he just scoot under the low cupboard in the kitchen and thoroughly clean that small space that is so awkward for me to clean? It wasn’t till later that we found out while playing under there, he had secretly unplugged the coffee pot and the water dispenser.

Later, I took him to the master bedroom. The bedskirts? No problem. He just sailed under the bed and roamed around until every single dust bunny was gone. I told him to be sure and do behind the dresser and left. Later I came back to check on his progress. I could barely hear him. His voice seemed muffled. I looked under the bedskirts. He was not there. I checked other small spaces, but he was not there. Panic was rising in my throat when I discovered him in the corner, behind the dresser, sweeping crevices with his little flag broom and sucking up the debris. I was so impressed. How much better is this than the hernia-effort it takes me to move the dresser and the annoyance of having to fold myself into a twisted pretzel in order to vacuum under those bloody beds?

I moved him to the next bedroom. Told him to clean that room too. But when I came back a few minutes later to check, he was gone! Dissolved into thin air. No purring motor. No little broom waving ‘I’m over here’.

So now everyone scrambled to search for Matador. And where did we find him? Under the bed, in another room at the far end of the house practicing for a smash-up derby performance with one of Grandson’s old fire trucks from another day that was waylaid there.

Hub is not as thrilled as I am. I heard him complaining on the phone the other day that he can’t even watch the Lone Star Channel anymore. Always there’s Matador buzzing around his feet with me following along. Criss-crossing in front of the screen. Laughing and chatting gaily with Matador.