A tribute to my husband

    I did a really stupid thing over the weekend. I mistook myself for someone who knew how to handle a computer problem. My darn laptop knocked me off the internet yet again. Out of frustration, I started poking around and found a “restore” avenue. What could go wrong? It had to mean “restore to a working condition,” right? Wrong.

The mouse arrow glowed with a feeling of hopelessness, or so it seemed. It matched my mood. No icons to select on the totally black screen. No directions to tell me what to do next. I turned it off/on, off/on, off/on. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach warned me that I had to tell my husband.

Nonetheless, I sat on the secret for about 15 minutes, hoping for a miracle that never came.

Fast forward three days. Even a computer-savvy husband needs time to mount an appropriate attack. Would this work? No. Would this work? No. How about this?

At the end of the third day . . . success! The computer works better than ever, costing only (?!) time and aggravation.

My husband didn’t need to extract a promise out of me. On my own, I solemnly swore to admit total ignorance of all things computer and to never, ever go down the questionable path of no return.

And I’ve got to hand it to my husband. He wasn’t happy with the situation, but he was very patient. Never a harsh word crossed his lips.

The man should be nominated for sainthood.