Me: Yes, what?
Shane: I'm going to be an inventor!
Me: Cool. What are you going to invent?
Shane: Robot kitties.
Me: And what will they do?
Shane: Whatever I tell them to!
Brilliant, right? The boys spent the better part of two hours refining the specifications for the robot kitties. There will be 53 of them; 40 belonging to Shane and 13 to Weston. Shane's will all look like Henry or Jake, while Weston's will be white and fluffy. For some agreed-upon reason, they will all answer only Shane, and they will do whatever he says, except for robbing, stealing, swiping or killing. If he gives an order consisting of one of these forbidden activities, they will stand down.
Now, I'm not a girl to let a good labor-saving idea pass me by, so I could see the value of the robot kitty army right away, and I was quick to verify that they could cook AND clean up. And, in fact, I was assured that they will do as they are told, except for the prohibited tasks. But why stop there? I asked if they could get jobs and bring home the bacon, and was informed that they can, but their job qualifications apparently only allow them to be police officers or firefighters. I was a little disappointed, because I was hoping for fat cat bankers or hedge fund managers, instead of some underpaid public servants. I guess there ARE 53 of them; they ought to be able to keep me in wine. And I will definitely need copious volumes if I am going to be forced to live with robot kitties, no matter how much money they make.
I had hoped they were going to get started with the construction right away, but no, the boys have decided that the scheme is going to have to wait until they are adults. That's 4,913 days from now. Not that I'm counting. Or stocking up on diodes and fake fur.