I'm in love with a robot, but he doesn't know. Yesterday morning when he brought me my coffee, I dropped a less subtle hint, something about pressing each other's buttons. But it didn't register. Or if it did, he is playing hard to get. Why should this one be any different? Maybe it wasn't the best idea to name him Rosie, but that's Hanna-Barbera conditioning for you. The warranty says I'm good until next June, so I suppose I could register the unrequited feelings as a defect in workmanship, but I don't know that it would fly. Rosie in all other respects is ideal. Last night when I turned on Jimmy Kimmel, he brought me my slippers from the bedroom and stood by the arm of the couch until I had succeeded to, well, slip them on. Rosie is conscientious like that. He just is a little stoic about his feelings. Before I got Rosie I was in love with a boy. The problem there was not that he didn't know but that he did. And he never brought me coffee.