I think it would be fair to say that I'm a bit of a Luddite on the quiet, or more accurately, technically challenged.
A computer is merely a glorified typewriter and somewhere to lose photographs. A cell phone is something that always needs charging and also hides photographs. This serves to remind me that I have my own special needs, but they could probably all be addressed by a crash course on 'electronics for beginners.'
As the pace of life speeds up into hyper drive, I take heed of wise words from wise people. My first step is to tackle my spouse, or rather explain that my cup runneth over and I'm in dire need of a jolly big sponge. As is so often the case with the male of the species, he downloads into fix it mode.
“Do you still have that pager I bought you?”
“Pager? Oh….the one when I was pregnant with…..somebody or other?”
“Yes that's the one.”
“Lummy I haven't seen that since…..the last umbilical cord was surgically snipped.”
“What about the phone?”
“What about it?”
“Do you ever use it?”
“Of course, although I let most of the messages go to the answering machine.”
“No, not the land line, the cell phone?”
“Oh no, never use that thing if I can possibly avoid it. Anyway, I thought it was just for emergencies?”
“Did you ever manage to recover the data from you Palm?”
“Nope, died with the lap top hard drive and that was that.”
“Any luck changing the shutter speed on the camera?”
“Nope. Can't find the manual.”
“You know……….you really need to get more organized.”
“I mean, ……nothing works properly.”
“User friendly my eye!”
“Exactly. I have enough trouble getting back to the basic codes because it's all basically Linux based but you…….” He looks at me, the body that houses the tiniest working memory on the planet.
“I mean……..what time is it?”
“Yes, my watch has one of those little round flat batteries and I don't know where to buy a replacement.”
“I'm off then.”
“Off? Off where?”
“To get you fixed.”
“Fixed as in mended, or fixed as in fixed up?” Or maybe something much worse!
He beams as he leaves which means that he goes to visit Fry's which means he'll be gone for hours which means I might as well give up and go to bed.
The next morning, early in the morning, whilst it's still dark, because the children are on full charge, I charge downstairs to greet the coffee machine and small people, although in the opposite order.
I am rewarded for my opposite order.
At the coffee machine, where the cup normally fits, I find something else entirely, and no manual.
I squeeze my eyes shut, very tightly, to stop my automatic translator from functioning, as I know it represents several therapy sessions, countless grocery trips and several tanks of petrol.
Who need flowers matey!