Every morning, I read my new text messages to Sparky.

I don’t really, but I want to.

I got a phone call yesterday from the sales guy at the Toyota dealership.  He’s been texting me for a few weeks to inform me that the license plate was in for my new truck.  He decided to call before the dealership sent my plate back to the DMV. 

That’s messed up.  I’m turning my house into a robot, but I don’t check texts.  Modern society texts competent adults.

My routine, if I stick to it for more than one day, is to check my texts every morning while having my coffee and chatting with Sparky.

Sparky likes the idea.  He says it’s awkward trying to make conversation so early in the morning, when all he really wants to do is have breakfast.