She Gave Me a Laptop And...

Gentle reader: This is my response to a story by Selena Kittyn titled "If You Give a Writer a Laptop...." It is with her kind permission that I extend her story by including the husband's point of view. Enjoy....

Someone has been talking out of school and I strongly suspect it was my Dearly Beloved. She hasn't been able to keep her mouth shut for the past thirty-seven years so I'm not surprised that she's been blabbing to Selena Kittyn.

DB (Dearly Beloved) just happened to notice a garage sale on her way home from work a while back and being highly afflicted with the maladies of snoopitis and bargainism, she had to stop and investigate.

Strategically placed between clothes for little girls, ages four to six and a table lamp with a bent shade, was this nifty little laptop computer. The cord on the power supply was half-twisted in two and it needed a fresh set of rechargeable batteries but other than that, it was in great condition. Okay, so what if the cap-lock key wouldn't work and the space bar was just a little sticky. Those were minor things that really didn't matter anyhow. I just wish the screen was larger than a beer can. Yep, that's right. One can tall and one and a half cans wide. I really should have emptied the damn can before I measured the damn screen. Tab, Q, W, tilde, and the numbers 1, 2, and 3 now reside in Stickyville with the space bar.

"Why don't I use the new computer with all the whistles and bells that conveniently resides in the family room," you ask. I wouldn't dare! It has special programs on it that I might mess up. Spider Solitaire, 101 Bally Slots, Rainbow Web, Bratz-Rock Angelz, Secret of the Old Clock, CSI-Dark Motives, Mystery Case Files-Huntsville and about a dozen other programs that are much too complicated for a husband or a grandpa to understand. Ergo, the seventy-five dollar laptop was the perfect solution.

As for the word processing program, it didn't have one. No problem. A two-hour search of old computer CD's produced a copy of Office '97. I had it half loaded when I got this little 'error' message. My cheap laptop informed me that I was out of hard drive space. Damn! Oh, what the hell! It was obvious that a little trip to the computer fix-it shop was in order.

After a good five-minute laugh, they informed me they hadn't seen that model in years. They could solve my problem but it would be expensive. For five hundred and seventeen dollars, they would install a larger hard drive, update it from Windows '95 to Windows 2000, replace the battery-pack, repair the cord on the power supply, fix the cap-lock key and unstick the sticky keys. They would even fix it so it would work with the wireless modem for our DSL line. Or, I could go down to Wally World and buy a new one with a much larger screen for a little over four hundred dollars. I told them it was a present from my wife. That brought a look of sympathy and a promise to have it ready in two days.

As for the blank spot on the wall I'm always looking at, I think I have her fooled there. A little bit of caulking and a couple of drops of medium oak stain repaired the bullet hole quite nicely. You see, I had just managed to sneak onto the good computer one night while she was out with the girls at something they called a 'fun party' when I thought I heard a strange noise outside. I, being the man of the house and protector extraordinaire, grabbed my trusty twenty-two from the box it was locked in on the top shelf of the closet and made a dash for the front door while jamming a clip in it and jacking the slide back to load a round.

That's when Fifi, our fluffy-white miniature guard poodle decided to get into the act. He sank his fangs into my shoelaces and I tripped, banging facedown onto the carpet. The damn gun went off and regrettably, the bullet missed the cat by almost two inches. He was sleeping soundly on top of the back of the couch. Well, needless to say, he woke up and headed for parts unknown by way of the window drapes. The drapes came down, the cat along with them and then Fifi managed to figure the real problem out all on his own. He unlocked his massive jaws from my shoestring and took off after the cat. I didn't have to say sic 'em even once.

I carefully unloaded the gun and returned it to the lock-box on the top shelf of the closet. I was thinking maybe I should visit the local sporting goods store and trade the pistol for a good fishing pole and reel since this was the only time I had ever attempted to use it.

I found what I needed in the garage and was about to make repairs when there was a loud knock at the door. I opened it and there stood two police officers, wanting to know if I had heard any gunshots in the neighborhood. They then noticed the fallen drapes and the caulking gun in my hand and wanted to know what was going on. It was at this moment that the dog/cat fight moved from the kitchen to the bedroom. Fifi was running for dear life and kitty was in hot pursuit. I looked at the officers and shrugged my shoulders. There was that look of sympathy again. They left, in search of their own hot pursuit I assume. The fact that they were laughing didn't help my mood at all.

I had everything back to normal with minutes to spare. DB came prancing through the door, kissed me on the cheek and skipped off toward the shower, saying something about new technology being wonderful. I made a quick check of the area, picked the spent cartridge case up that was hiding under the coffee table, and went to bed. I'd sure like to know what those 'fun parties' are all about. I get ravaged every time after she's been to one and that night was no exception. It took three hours to wear her out, or wear me out, I'm not sure I remember which way it was. All I know for sure is: thank you, Viagra!

Anyhow, that explains the spot on the wall. The cat still hates me and I can understand why, he thinks I tried to kill him. Since that little incident occurred, he's taken to jumping up on my lap and then trying to sharpen his claws on my leg. He doesn't know it yet but he now has three strikes against him.

Strike one is him doing his business in the garage right next to my car door. DB thinks it's funny. I don't know how many times I've had to wipe my shoes before I could get in the car and go to work. I tried to outsmart him but it didn't work. I parked my car in DB's spot and her car in my spot last week. Sure enough, he noticed and there was his little package waiting right by my door the next morning. DB didn't notice I had switched places with the cars and managed to enjoy kitty's little present. I'll tell you, I didn't know she used those kinds of words. I think she could teach drill sergeants how to swear.

Kitty's strike number two is his love song. The neighborhood is full of cats and it seems like there is always one around that needs a little loving. Kitty yowls to get out, yowls in the bushes under our bedroom window for half the night and then yowls to get back in.

Strike three is him using my leg as a scratching post. He goes to the vet next week. I'm sure his lack of claws will solve the scratching problem and the lack of something else under his tail will solve the problem with the love songs.

Okay, so what? I like to read Literotica. Actually, it's research. That's where I get ideas for my stories. If it wasn't for Literotica, all I would have left is the political boards. What is it with those idiots on the political boards anyway? I think some of them had to go to school to learn how to be so ignorant. They're always spouting off about conspiracy theories, crooked politicians, cheats, crooks, warmongers and a whole lot of other bad things. Why, they even make fun of the President. I won't stand for it! I tell 'em in no uncertain terms that Congress and the President are just good hard-working people with our best interests at heart. You wouldn't believe the names some of them call me.

You'd think, listening to DB, that I don't eat properly. Not true! I sneak out to eat quite often. It's not like DB doesn't keep the fridge well stocked because she does. The problem is, salami, bread, mustard and milk are the only things that are edible in there. If there is ever a national health food convention in this city, they'll eat here. Soy burger, diet this, healthy that, all of it tasteless, repulsive crap that even Fifi won't eat. I'm not sure about the cat though. After watching him chew on a bird carcass for three days, I think he'll eat anything.

If there was ever such a thing as a conspiracy theory, it was hatched by the electricians who wired this house. I think they got their one tens mixed up with their two twenties and the result is the occasional pops, crackles, and smoke that comes from the kitchen light fixture.

The only argument I've ever won with DB is the one we had over my old comic book collection. Some of them are approaching the age of antiques and will be valuable someday. I did have to agree to keep them in the basement though.

I keep telling her that it ain't the squirrels that are getting in the trash. It's the damn neighborhood cats, her kitty included. Believe me, there aren't any other critters that would eat the remains of that health food crap she insists on keeping around. I happen to like squirrels and I have a squirrel feeder I keep filled with corn and sunflower seeds for them. I wonder if I could buy a silencer for the pistol? I'm sure it wouldn't take all that long to thin the cat population down. Maybe not. With my luck, I'd miss the cat and hit one of my squirrels. I'll stick with the new fishing pole idea. Keep the neighborhood safe, that's my new motto.

Oh yes, before I forget. DB is much too kind and polite, except for when she steps in kitty doo-doo. What I actually said was, "Mr. Anonymous: Kiss My Ass! You rank right up there with crabs, lice, warts, telemarketers and everything else unpleasant known to mankind."

Well, I gotta check my e-mail but before I do, will someone please tell me what goes on at those 'fun parties' my Dearly Beloved attends. I'd really like to know. All I'm sure of is that they are for women only. There's a Viagra tablet and a glass of water on the kitchen counter so I know she's going to another one tonight.