What do alcohol, females and electronics have in common, you ask? I thank you for asking, as that just happens to be what I was about to write about (while I’m sober).
The answer to that question, if you must know, is that all three facets of it have the inherent property of being able to confuse me if indulged in excessively. Correction — with the last two of the troika, even the least interaction has the potential, at their whim and discretion, to turn me into a quivering paroxysm of bumfuzzlement (a word which, for those ingrates who don’t make it their business to follow me faithfully, you will find defined in my previous post).
Now, you take my wife — please! Ha ha ha (I bet that Rodney Dangerfield, if he were still alive, would wish he’d thought of that one). I love my wife as much as any man, which might impress you more if I were bisexual….but the point is that my wife is a woman, which doesn’t always work to my advantage. For instance, if I (perish the thought) or any man should take his beloved for granted when he wants food or sex on demand, she may get the mistaken impression that he’s an insensitive boor who thinks only of himself. But enough about her.
Now take electronics — specifically, computers. Like females (which computers probably are), they seem to have minds of their own, can immediately and irretrievably dismiss my most brilliant postulations if I touch the wrong button, and they have no conception of, or sympathy for, the unfairness of it all. Furthermore, certain computer alternations seem to live in different time zones.
For example, suppose I were writing a post about Friday the 13th which, being a logical man, I might wish to publish on Friday the 13th. So here it is, just before midnight on Thursday the 12th, and the time at the bottom of my computer screen nears 11:59 PM. So I wait until midnight — even one minute after, to be safe — and click “Publish,” but is my post dated the 13th? Of course not — in that alternation, it’s 11:01 PM –still June 12, and my post bears that date instead of June 13.
Now, if computers were like high-rises which often skip from the 12th to the 14th floor without committing building code violations (or collapsing), I might be able to overlook such high-handed treatment. But my computer is no taller than a breadbox, and in any case, I doubt that it’s superstitious. Obviously, this leaves me with but one choice.
I give up.