Technology, you have not been my friend of late. In light of recent events, I approach our relationship with trepidation and I hope that you can be nicer to me in the future.
I think I know when we started to grow apart. I was setting up my laptop, and when I lifted it slightly over my head to adjust the cord, I let out an earsplitting “AUGH!” and flopped on the couch. I flopped partly out of pain, but mostly due to humiliation, because I somehow managed to drop my laptop on my face. My klutziness rewarded me with a fat lip, a bruised ego, and JG muttering about how he’d be called up for spousal abuse one of these days, blah blah blah.
And then you got back at me for my flagrant misuse of my laptop as a weapon, albeit against myself. I set up my power cord on top of the couch cushion next to me, and suddenly, I felt an intense pain in the top of my head. Every time I moved, it got worse, and I panicked, making trapped-animal noises while JG looked at me, stunned. I reached up, discovered the problem, and whimpered, “My hair…is caught on my power cord!” My superfine hair was snarled around the rubber button on the belt-like part of the cord. JG had to unwind it as I cringed all the while.
So, now I’m a little bit wary of the new toy you've brought into my life. After years of old-school day planners, I finally took the plunge and got a PDA. Aren’t you proud of me, Technology? So far, this little iPod impersonator hasn’t smacked me around for being klutzy or long-haired, so I’m beginning to think that you’re using it to get on my good side. Or maybe also to give me alerts about meetings and provide a central holding place for the contact information of my friends who insist on moving or getting married. (Or both! Geez.) If you’re trying to make nice, you’re doing a good job. I’ll try not to drop my laptop on myself in the future and we can call it a deal. Okay?