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There is a baby upstairs, or a Terminator

Before the movie, it went like this:

Me: We should see the new terminator movie.
K: Really? You know it’s about a robot apocalypse, right?
Me: I like robots. And apocalypses.

After the movie, it went like this:

Me: I thought there was going to be more time travel.
K: There sure were a lot of robots… but I didn’t see any scientists.

The next morning, I am on my couch in pajamas thinking about how glad I am to be made of human and not of metal. But in the apartment upstairs there’s pounding and jumping and sounds like ball bearings skittering across the floor, and maybe a tustle with a goat or… a robot. I mean, I know they have a three year-old. But maybe they have a Terminator.

I think I’ve been watching too many movies lately. We watched Wall-E last week, and I was politely discouraged from continuing to run around with a tiny basil plant clutched to my chest and announcing, “Directive.”