AI had the "wrong" brand of mustard, brilliantly preprogrammed, when the unit, several days previous, had called in the grocery order - while it had damp-mopped the kitchen floor, while of course, not getting one fleck of dust, nor drop of cleaning solvent out of place.
Humans...so easily manipulated, the two foul spirits cackled. "Puddah paper crown on that..." a third foul spirit flew to watch the scene unfold. Hank, the pompous jerk, sitting in his easy chair, his arms upon its arms, while rovenna... Some two minutes later, foul spirit #3 takes off to find weirdo amusement going on elsewhere.
Anyway, some four or five counties over, and into the next state, Ohio bit into his "sammich." He wrinkled his face alittle. Store brand. He could always tell the difference. How could anyone not?? Ohio chuckled to himself, seeing his four year-old's attempt to mask making faces at the sandwich, she didn't like it either.
Talk about, saved by a muffled bell. His wife's phone rang from within her purse - which sat on a stand just inside the front door. Ohio signaled his daughter, with an index finger over his lips, to pass him the untouched half of her sandwich. "We'll both get something on the way to pick up the..."
His wife returned to the table, and nibbled her sandwich. From a brief expression upon her face, she also appeared less than wild about the sandwich. But Ohio knew the drill. Short of him pulling Divine ordained rank, and about this-side-of ordering her to throw that jar, directly into the waste can...uh, uh, no! That Ohio wouldn't do.
As a small boy, he'd never gone to bed hungry, then come morning, there being about no breakfast either. Not so, for his wife.
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