As a child, I vividly remember the tupperware that my grandmother kept her Raisin Bran in. What seared the cereal container into my memory was the piece of paper she had taped to the front. On the paper was a list of dates going back to the Nixon administration where she had documented every time the contents had been refilled, along with the cost per ounce and which grocery store in town had the best price at each date.

I had an unfortunate incident at the gym last week that some of you might be familiar with. While I was doing my best hamster-on-a-wheel impression on the stair-climber, the football highlights showing on one of the TVs came as a welcome distraction from the fact that I hate doing cardio.

I have a confession, I am a closet marshmallow connoisseur. I was the kid around the campfire chasing a perfect golden brown while I scoffed at the sacrilege of the other kids hyperventilating as they covered their flaming carcinogen-pops in spit.

I grew up on a farm just outside of Mancos, a small town in Southwestern Colorado. And by small, I mean the no stoplight, twenty-five kids in my graduating class, I actually went cow-tipping, kind of small.

After hearing some stories on the news about companies using robots to increase productivity and reduce their workload, I actually ended up buying a few. They’ve worked out so well I plan to buy as many as I can and recommend that you do the same, as they happen to be great at one thing that we can all benefit from… earning money.  Here’s how:

Your heart drops when you step on the scale after the holidays, or you open your credit card statement to a find balance so high you go through it line by line suspecting that a Russian hacker used it to buy bitcoins.