“Mary, we’re home!” your parents cry out from the front door. You sigh, making your way out of the comfort of your bed. The nest of blankets cries out for you to stay. Bounding down the steps, you notice that a large box is stationed behind your father. “We brought you home something!” he says with glee, shifting away from the box.
GLAMOUR, the box read in big, chunky letters. You jump with delight, everyone at school had been discussing this latest line of tech, a home butler. The commercial said it can clean the house, make snacks, and help you with schoolwork. And 75 more actions (if you buy the deluxe pack).
“I saw it and thought we could splurge while we were out,” your mom exclaims. You nod vigorously, hoping your mom doesn’t regret dropping a bag on something so spectacular for a teen girl. You’ll never have to do homework again! No more washing the dishes or cleaning the bathroom! It’s revolutionary, you think.
And Glamour was remarkable for a while. You watch as she spins around the floor, vacuuming, dusting, and making Dad’s morning egg. And you definitely don’t complain about the homework feature, A’s on every essay and assignment because of Glamour.
Glamour was even friendly. She listens to the gossip at school and the newest album. She even managed to endure Dad lecturing about his office job. She always managed to say “please” and “thank you”, and she never bumped into you.
Glamour impacted everyone; students were able to play video games and absorb worthless slop in the media. Teachers were able to use Glamour to grade essays that the kids wrote with the help of Glamour.
However, it seemed as if your mother was the one most impacted by the machine. She was instantly uplifted, able to exist without cleaning for eternity. Mom loved it, loved it a bit too much in your opinion. She was constantly singing her praises. Professing her love to the creators and those who constructed the programming, not to mention Glamour herself.
“It’s like having two daughters,” you hear your mother declaring to her friends, “one’s just a lot cleaner.”
Yes, Glamour was smarter, kinder, sometimes even funnier than you, but it didn’t take away from the fact that you were alive. Physically breathing, moving with flesh and bone.
Yet, that didn’t seem to matter to her. You were her daughter, the one she had carried to term, but Glamour is what she had always desired.
In fact, Glamour is what everyone wants. Why shop if Glamour can do it for you? Why work if Glamour can do it for you? Why socialize if Glamour can do it for you?
Why exist if Glamour can do it for you?
