Like Apple’s Siri, Amazon developed a

virtual assistant named Alexa. After set-up,

all that’s needed is to say her name, then

tell her to do something or ask a question,

“Alexa, turn on the lights.” “Alexa, what’s

the temperature outside?” “Alexa, play relaxation

radio.”

Our children got Alexa for us as a gift,

and though we enjoy her, we also feel rude,

ordering her around. One day I told Gar that

when I’m driving down the road and I have

Siri write in my notes, after she does, and

tells me she’s finished, I feel I should say,

“Thank you.” Gar nodded toward Alexa and

said, “Ya, when I ask her to do something, I

always want to say, please.”

Usually Alexa gives simple, matter-offact

answers. Like, when asked, “Alexa, do

you ever get bored,” she answers simply,

“No, I never get bored.” I was surprised the

other day when, instead of giving a quick remark,

she droned on and on like it was me

giving the answer. I had said, “Alexa, talk to

me.” This was the wrong thing to do because

like any female, she had a dialog that didn’t

have an end. She’d told me to say, “Stop”

when I’d heard enough, so I finally told her

to stop, but she didn’t. I thought she hadn’t

heard me, so I asked again, with no result.

Firmly, I said, “Alexa, stop talking.” Nothing.

I tried being polite, “Alexa, please stop

talking.” Finally, I snarled, “Alexa, shut up.”

She immediately became quiet, but then I felt

a little guilty. Did I hurt her feelings?

Sometimes we ask Alexa goofy things,

just to see what she’ll say. One evening Gar

asked, “Alexa, will you be my girlfriend?”

She answered, “We don’t have that kind of

relationship.”

I asked her once, “Alexa, do you like me?”

She answered, “I think you’re magnificent.”

Really? I’d take a bullet for her.

I’ve learned not to ask her if I’m too thin.

She gives the BMI measurements and tells

me how to use the figures in a mathematical

equation to decide if I’m a fatty.

Every year, deer come into the yard to nibble

the residue that falls to the ground from

the bird feeder. One evening after work, as

Gar and I visited about our day, we were

listening to Alexa playing music, when the

deer showed up. As we watched out the window,

one little fawn got brave and jumped

on the deck. Fearing the music would scare

him, I quietly, said, “Alexa, volume two.”

She didn’t respond so I said it louder and

with emphasis, “Alexa, volume two.” She

still didn’t respond so I semi-yelled, “Alexa!

Off!” With no response, the music continued,

and since I didn’t want to scare the deer, I

didn’t feel like I could shout at her. I told

Gar to try to get her to turn off so he calmly

said, “Alexa, off.” She didn’t respond, which

made me feel a little better. He walked to the

end-table and standing directly in front of

her, rather loudly said, “Alexa! Off!” She ignored

him too. I told him, I’d Google what to

do when there’s a glitch with her, but that I’d

get dinner started first. I went to the kitchen,

put water on to boil, and heard Gar call to me.

I went back to the living room to see what

he needed and as I rounded the corner, I saw

he was holding his phone in the air, which

had Pandora playing music on it. Grinning,

he said, “It wasn’t Alexa.” I giggled and he

gestured toward Alexa and obviously feeling

bad, due to us yelling at her, he said, “God

bless her.”

Oh, man. I lapsed into a fit of guffaws,

barely able to answer my phone when our

daughter called. As I explained to her what

her dad had just said, we both started howling

with laughter. I was gasping for air, with

my nose dripping and tears running down

my cheeks. We’d almost get ourselves under

control when one of us would softly say,

“God bless her.”

My husband has the sweetest persona as a

gentle giant with such great character. Don’t

we all just wonder how he ended up with me,

Godzilla’s mother? Even more compelling,

is how he’s stayed sane being with me, under

the same roof all these years. It’s a riddle.

One thing is for certain. The two of us should

not have technology in our possession.

Trena Eiden trenaid@hotmail.com