I approach her bed slowly, like every morning. She ignores me, staring at the television, that is running the usual batch of home shopping ads for portable vacuum cleaners, abdominal shapers, ultra-sharp fish cutting knives, smart neck massagers and rechargeable hearing aids. The only thing that can be useful to my mother is the massager, but she is not interested in it because she has me; I am much more efficient and I do not need to be plugged into an outlet or even to use batteries. If an offer came up for a robot son, I'd buy it right away.

I cross her line of sight to set the breakfast tray on the side table and she gives me a disapproving glance. However, I know that her annoyance will only last a few moments; she will soon forget it. Just as she has forgotten my name, a year ago.

By Marcelo Medone

From: Argentina

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