She stands in a pink bathrobe in front of a human-sized package; text overlay: This little package solves 99% of women’s problems. Spoiler: It’s not a blender. It’s Optimus.
Twenty-one seconds later, the humanoid husband has taken over mowing the lawn, while she sits in a wicker chair in her pajamas, pretending to read a book. She isn’t. She’s checking to see if the robot is mowing nice, straight lines.
The takeaway: The future of relationships isn’t therapy. The future of relationships is a box labeled TESLA OPTIMUS and the quiet dream of never having to say “Honey, the lawn…” again.
