I tried to change the channel on TV just now. It stubbornly refused to budge. My husband, hearing my vociferous paddy hollered from the patio: “What’s up now?” Irritated by his tone,
“I’m missing X Factor! That’s what’s up!” I retorted.
“TV was fine this morning.” He replied.
Grrrrrr! I felt my hackles rise: “WELL IT’S NOT FINE NOW!” I yelled slamming down the remote.
Enter one war-weary Techno-Nerd, owner of two bushy eye-brows that meet up and shake hands; AND he was wearing that ridiculous hangdog expression that makes me want to poke his eyes out!
“PMT?” he queried, knowing too well that the blight on life’s landscape of hormonal life was long defunct: “Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “Just fix it.”
Now what came next bugs me to death. He walks over to the set, picks up a remote control, hands it to me with a smirk and asks: “Would this help?”
I look down at the land-line handset being strangled in my white knuckle grip, and suddenly a beam of light illuminates my one and only ‘comprehension’ cell. Husband tilts his silly head and asks smugly: “Who’s embarrassed now?”
Ok, I know the difference between the phone and remote, but there’s so much stuff around these days, all with numbers and buttons or bits to click.
Take the time I enrolled on a college course – ‘Computing for Beginners.’ Arriving late I self-consciously slid onto the vacant seat. Glancing around I was heartened to see fresh faced young students. It wasn’t just oldies that needed assistance then?
The tutor mentioned the mouse-mat. In a bid to belong I slapped a toothy grin on my face and nodded approval at his humour.
Enter the mouse; the mouse we were prompted to place on the mat.
Mouse? … Mouse mat? I sneaked a glimpse at the studious baby faces around me and guffawed like an old fish-wife. Twenty eyes focused upon me. Simultaneously ten right hands picked up that little black oval object that had been contentedly snoozing on the desk. Oops!
I do my best, but kids are wired up differently these days! It’s genetic you see. They’re born with cyber-neurones ready encrypted. Analogous to an oven ready turkey!
I can’t win. I own a digital camera and download pictures to my laptop: “Wrong,” says husband. “You upload them.”
Graciously I correct him: “No I don’t. I know because I’m there and I definitely download them.”
This is the way I see it. If I upload laundry into the washing machine, then I must download when I take it out. If I upload pizza from the freezer to the oven, then I download pizza when I take a bite and swallow. It’s very simple to me. I could apply it to so many things in life.
Now I’m invincible! I accomplish all manner of techno feats. Husband is truly in awe of me. He raises those unkempt brows and pleads: “Lord, help me! Lord, help me!” Over and over again!
Next door’s Bloodhound just downloaded a sizable portion of yesterday’s used Pedigree Chum onto our nice lawn. I’ve told husband that he should upload it onto a shovel and download it onto their doorstep: “That’s a fine Christian attitude!” He declared.
Ok - Point taken. I agree! So I’m off to get my camcorder, zoom in on the offending and steaming swirl-heap of dog digestion, download it to my laptop and from there to You Tube.
“No you will not.” Says husband menacingly.
“Oh yes I will.” Says I defiantly.
“You will UPLOAD it.”
“Oh! … Erm … so it’s ok to do that?”
“Plaster it all over YouTube!”
What’s the point in all this? Husband says it’s like educating pork; that I don’t retain anything. I tell him it’s because I’m old. He tells me I’m making HIM feel old! He gets impatient and I get neurotic.
I’m struggling to subdue an urge to swing from his beard! Instead I’ll flounce through the door, slam it behind me, and head for the garden shed.
Ok I’m here now, derided and disparaged, perched like a garden gnome straddling a bag of decaying compost. Mouse traps and spider webs are my sole companions.
I’m here for a purpose; to upload a prayer to Jesus … then wait a while, knowing that He’ll download sufficient grace for me to go back indoors and eat humble pie!
SEE? I’M NOT SO DUMB AM I!
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