Preferred Position

Does your job bore you? Are you just plain tired of working for a living? Well meet a man from the future—who'd gladly trade places!...
The bed woke them. Time to get up, dears, it cooed. Time to get up and greet the sun ... time to get up.... Then the supporting magnetism faded and let their mattress drift gently to the soft warm floor.
Janet turned and opened her eyes, pouting at Les. He scowled back, grumbled something, and rolled away. She shook his film-coated shoulder.
Come on, Les. Come on, you'll feel better after coffee.
Don't want any, he snarled.
But the damage had been done. At the word coffee a grotesque marionette opened the bedroom door and minced in with two steaming cups on a tray, swinging them artfully so that they appeared likely to spill, but didn't.
For some years, now, that dance had left Janet unamused. She was about to say so when Les growled, These darned dolls are a nuisance. I wish you'd order a plain, automatic dispenser!
They're even more boring, Janet argued, sitting up. Her gauzy film-dress and sleepy face made her look appealingly childlike. She was fifty-five.
Les was sixty, with a full head of blond hair atop six and a half feet of slim solid flesh. He sat up with the expression of an exasperated six-year-old.
Go away! he told the doll. It did.
But I wanted some! Janet wailed. She was careful, though, not to use the words that would cause the doll to return.
Neither did Les. He said, Why don't we take a couple of pills and go back to sleep till tomorrow? There isn't a darned thing to do.