Each household has some form of hierarchy, defined or undefined, meticulous or raucous. Ours is a sort of a tacit agreement but spoken. I know I don’t make sense, I am just being myself. Let me explain.

I was working in front of my machine when the mom asked the son to take out the pressure washer and clean the electric fans. But because he was still busy doing something, the fans remained in their waiting stage. The daughter saw the dirty fans and said, "I’ll do the cleaning." But since she had to prepare lunch and we didn’t have a dog, I had to do something before WWIII erupts.

Immediately, I turned to the one who does most of the doings in this household:

Me: "Hey, Google, clean the fans."

Google: "𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥."

"Hey Google, nettoie les ventilateurs électriques, s’il vous plaît."

"𝘛𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴!"

I thought it’d respond differently to another language. But fail.

I looked to the left. I looked to the right. Up and down. No one else down the organizational chart. Can you imagine a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, slowly creeping out of the door because it had been shooed away by the cruel restaurant owner? No, that wasn’t like me at all. I happily stood up and declared, "I will do it!"

Twenty-seven minutes later, the fans were sparkling clean and I was wet as the dog described here if it was left out in the rain.

The wife is looking around for more dirty items around.

I wish we had a dog. Cheers.

#MyCafeNotes