You paint too bleak a picture.

Women wield some incredible power over their men when they become their servants in old age.

Aside from having machines do all the chores, and other than starting and ending the machine cycles, there is not much slavery to do. The woman can make the tea, the toast, the bed, or prepare his enema, at any time she wants. She can make a man beg for her mercy without making him realize that he's doing exactly that. A simple "yes dear" or "no dear" from the wife will kill the musroom of resistance from the man when he feels suppressed in attaining his idolized lifesytle that would allow him to eat when he wants to, to go for a nap when he wants to, to go to the washroom when he wants to (Dear, you cannot go in now, I just washed the tiles above hte cabinet), to watch bikini-clad girls play volleyball on the tube when he wants to. Instead, he sits in his Lazee boy chair, feet up, watching tv incessantly, while the wife (who's ten years younger than he from the word "go") can go shopping for groceries, catch up with the girls, flirt with the grocery boy (making him get dry heaves and shindles), accept flirtation from the greengrocer, get a fitting for a new hat, talk to the bread man's wife about how everything is becoming so expensive. After a lifetime of hubby going out and getting entertained at work with competition and socializing, and with learning about the world, while she was stuck at home with three kids whom she lovingly raised, now he's home, stuck with the Lazee boy and the tv, and it's she who goes out into the world, galavanting like some muskateer from Louis XIVth's court.

Then she goes home, to her loving and extremely bored husband, who can only smoke in stealth mode, who can only dream of having some human interaction.

She prepares the meal, he sleeps in front of the set, she serves the meal, he comes into the dining room, and she'll tell him not to slurp, not to eat that fast, not to let out wind during dinner, and all-in-all makes his meal most immemorably miserable. He reaches for the salt-shaker, she says, dear, remember what the doctor told you; he reaches for the sugar bowl, she says dear, remember your blood glucose. He reaches for the cream she says, dear, that's fattening, and he reaches for the cyanide, she says, dear, what would the children say. Yet, in secret, he thanks the dear Lord for his luck of having such a wonderful little wife.

At night,...

Well, you get the picture.

"I will turn your face to alabaster
When you find your servant is your master."

The stars are living beings.