In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been M-I-A (that’s missing in action for those who don’t speak acronym.) The horribly bad news is that my tiny little pink netbook, my baby, has been inflicted with some terrible virus. Some awful, mind-numbingly damaging virus. Some disgusting virus that by all rights, given the supposedly technologically-minded savvy of my computer geek spouse, should not have been granted access to my hard drive. Remember those shoeless cobbler’s kids? Apparently that little metaphor translates directly over to anti-virus software, as well.
So, my personal laptop is currently standing by, all alone, waiting for assistance by myafore-mentioned technologically-minded savvy computer geek spouse.Leaving me with no internet. Or email. Or access to online celebrity gossip. I’m totally dialed out of the matrix, people. And I hate it.
Luckily for me, this morningmy spouse is currently sawing some major logs due to a late-night session of XBOX Live Modern Warfare-sparring with a bunch of thirteen year-olds who probably should have been in bed, no doubt.Now, granted, I’ve heard the voices of Jeremy’s onlineplaymates and they all soundold enough tobe sprouting armpit hair. But, as I like to remind my husband who swears they must all be of the adult-persuasion,puberty comesearly for some.
Anyway,my man is always on his computer (the other woman, as I like to call her) and rarely am I afforded an opportunity to borrow the little hussy.
But, alas, here I am. I have hijacked his baby so I could send out the following message to my loyal readers:
Please don’t give up on me. I shall return one day. My Samsung netbook will be restored to its original beauty and I will blog once again. (Rest assured, if my husband continues to abate his marital duty of restoring my broken electronics I will *gasp* seek outside help by way of some nineteen year-old college student who has nothing better to do than tackle computer viruses and most likely believes inprotecting his shirt pockets from ink.
Don’t forget about me,