. . . Thanks again

Okay, my husband, after having read my ode to brassieres, wanted to know why I hadn't yet waxed rhapsodic about my new computer. Which he bought for me as a "surprise." Inasmuch as anything I've been dropping hints as broad as the Grand Canyon about for months can be a surprise. Who am I kidding? Those weren't hints, they were bang-him-over-the-head-with-a-cast-iron-frying-pan demands. Of course, given his level of sensitivity to such things, he probably perceived them as the most subtle of nudges.

Men.

Anyhow, he got me the new MacBook with Intel processor---he even sprung for the BLACK one. (And what's with Apple, charging hundreds of dollars more simply for the color black? It's the same bloody thing inside. The sheer greed is appalling. Then again, the black does look soooo much cooler.) It's my first laptop and my first Apple--and I have to say I do like it. I like it, like it, like it, dear. I really like it. In fact, it was part of the reason I've been inspired to start this blog, that and the fine work of Cybele at www.candyblog.net (Check it out--if you're a candy freak like me, you'll love it!)

When you can tote this little sucker around anywhere with you, it really makes writing when the mood strikes so much easier. I can go from room to room with my kids as they need me, and I'm no longer tethered to the computer in our overheated greenhouse of an office. (That, by the way, is what happens when you enclose a former sleeping porch on the second story with all glass. What WERE they thinking???) This is both a good thing and a bad thing. On the one hand, I can get important stuff done, like catching up on all the good goss on Eonline, wherever I am. On the other, I no longer can get away from the kiddos with the excuse that Mommy has to work on the computer. "Bring your new computer wif you," says the 4-year-old (Speech therapy is going so well. . . ). Despite this further reduction in my privacy (bathroom privacy having long been history), I still feel I come out ahead, and the portability of my Mac has stepped up my productivity. For someone who doesn't have a "real" job, that is. And let's face it, as soon as my kids mastered the mouse, which was scary early, I never had a chance. I was always competing with those cute little buggers for computer time. And they throw much better tantrums. So, I ended up with all this kids' stuff cluttering up my computer. . . Reader Rabbit, Stuart Little, Dragon Tales, Clifford, but no Teletubbies or Boobahs, thank gawd. There were more kid-related icons on my desktop than adult ones. It's so nice now not to have to share. They can play, I can play. It all works out nicely. And I've told them that they never, never, never get to play with mommy's computer. I will not share.

I love setting a good example for my children.

Despite my repeated thanks, my husband continued to need reassurance that I liked my gift. (Um, would the fact that I spend more time with it than with him be a clue??) The other day, less than a week after I got the computer, I noticed finger smudges on the exterior and on the touchpad--the one downside to this chic new little black Book. It was driving me crazy, so I asked my husband how he cleaned his computer (a Powerbook, if you must know). He handed me some Apple wash and a special lint-free cloth, and I proceeded carefully to erase every fingerprint from the ebony surface of the computer. While I was performing this task, my husband asked, yet again, if I really liked my new computer. I looked up at him, eyebrow cocked, and asked him what I was doing. "Cleaning your computer," he replied, somewhat confused. "When was the last time you ever saw me voluntarily clean ANYTHING??" I asked, and I went back to polishing my Apple. And dear hubby? He hasn't asked whether I like my computer since.