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For example, my oven is a female. I know this because it takes a
while for it to warm up, but even after the food is cooked, it's
still got some heat left in it. On the other hand, my microwave is
definitely a male. Turn it on and it instantly heats up; when the
food is cooked, it's instantly cold. Both the oven and the microwave
will get the job done; it's simply a matter of time. My upstairs
shower recently has been going through a midlife crisis. He used to
be so reliable. He gave me water when I wanted it and turned off
when I was done. Now, when I turn on the water, cold water from the
showerhead slaps me in the face. Apparently, the directional knob
that determines which end the water will come out has taken a leave
of absence for an unspecified period of time. Rumor has it that he
flew to Tahiti with some blonde half his age.
We're pretty attached to our upstairs shower, though, so we'll
try to give him the space he needs to work through his issues.
That's what supportive friends do. We're hopeful that, in time,
he'll see the error of his ways and come back to his senses. Though,
it may take a blind date with a gorgeous blond plumber to facilitate
the matter.
The door to my bedroom is some door's mother-in-law, I think.
Every time you open the door, it is whining that you never come to
visit. Every time you leave, it whines about you always leaving so
soon. I tried oiling her hinges, but then she whined that I was just
trying to butter her up. I think maybe her whining is the result of
a deeper pain. My husband and I have begun to talk about
hinge-replacement surgery for her.
There are some diseases that can't be resolved so easily, though,
as in the case of my laptop. It worked just fine for the longest
time, which is why determining the proper gender was such a problem.
However, slowly, with increasing frequency, it began to lose its
marbles.
At first it was small things: taking longer to get my e-mail,
giving me a hard time when I tried to run programs it didn't like,
popping up with ads for things it knows I would never buy. Then it
would start to heat up too quickly and pass out. After passing out,
it became increasingly difficult to revive it. I'd push the start
button, all the lights came on, but nobody was home. When the end
was near, I had to push that button about 20 times before I got a
reaction.
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We put it up on blocks to help it get cooler air into its intake
doohickey. That helped for a while, but eventually, it started
passing out randomly, whenever it felt like it. Sometimes it even
did this in the middle of typing a column. I swear that it knew that
what I'd typed wasn't saved yet.
What could it be? Perhaps it was a stress-related, computerized
form of narcolepsy. I don't know, but it was chronic and as it
turned out, terminal.
Then the hinge for the screen got cantankerous and would fall
down as I was typing. Sometimes it fell backward and spilled my
coke, and sometimes it fell forward and smashed all my fingers. It
was as if it was trying to bite me. My husband thought we should put
it down. What if it bit the children?
I started putting pillows behind it to give it a little more
support. I think maybe it had osteoporosis combined with a touch of
dementia.
One day while I was struggling with it to stay on and, ideally,
upright, I knocked over a desk lamp onto the keyboard and destroyed
"e," "2" and "3." The numbers aren't such a big deal -- I don't use
them much -- but "e" is a vowel, for crying out loud!
Because it was mostly my fault that it was missing a vowel, I
tried not to hold it against the laptop for being so handicapped. I
had to develop a callus on my middle finger, because getting an "e"
to show up on the screen was now much more difficult.
There came a day when I knew that taking care of my invalid
computer was becoming more than I could handle. I began looking for
a nursing home for computers. I think it knew my plans, because one
day it simply passed out cold and nothing I did would revive it.
Of course, when something like that happens, you try to remember
the good times. The one thing I regret is never knowing my laptop's
name.
Goodbye, old Mr. or Mrs. Whatsitsname. You were a good friend.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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