You know how, on sit-coms, the husband can always tell when the wife has used his razor? And he's not exactly happy about it?
That sort of sharing has been on my mind ever since my 19-month-old laptop died last week.
(Please join me in a moment of silence for everything that wasn't backed up.)
So, I've been using my son's MacBook, which he left behind while visiting his girlfriend. Mind you, deciding to let me use was touch and go.
But I filled out the requisite forms and answered a battery of questions, only stumbling over the one that should have been easiest.
"What happened to yours?" he texted.
"Um ..." I thought, unsure whether he'd let me use his if I told him the truth: "I really don't know."
So, I lied:
"I threw it at the cat because she wouldn't quit licking her incision from being spayed."
"You threw your computer at Ollie? Seriously?" he replied. "That makes me very nervous."
Hmm .. I hadn't pegged him for the gullible one.
"No, I was just going for the laugh. It was just some stupid Windows thing," I explained, without explaining.
"You really had me scared, but good one," he texted before cutting to the chase: "What are the chances of the same thing happening to mine?"
Windows problem on a Mac?
I was fairly safe, but I threw in a carrot just to be sure: "And I promise I won't snoop."
Sold! (er ... loaned) to the woman who can't keep her story straight.
So, I've been plugging away on the MacBook for several days now, trying to leave no tell-tale signs that will annoy him.
No full trash cans.
No downloads overflowing from their folder.
No cookies that will dog him until the end of his days.
It's been harder, though, to stop myself from bookmarking sites; downloading another search engine; or reorganizing the desktop so it feels more like home.
I've managed so far.
If Ollie can just resist licking herself, I'm all set.
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