"Look," says Rob holding his ipod aloft, "I hacked into your iphone. I can read your messages."
My mouth pops open. "Why would you do that? Why would you hack my account when you can just pick up the damned phone and look?"
A smug smile curls his lips. "Because I can."
My muscles knot and anger skates down my spine. This is too much aggravation in the morning. Okay, it's noon, but with flight delays I didn't get home til four am. I. Do. Not. Need. This. I try a different tact. "Okay, fine, just reverse whatever you did."
"Nope." He grins and I want to smack him but I don't have the energy.
"Rob dammit," I shout, "fix my phone."
"I'm not even sure how I did it in the first place," he snuggles back on the couch and yawns, "a flight attendant walked me through the process step by step."
I'll step by step his happy ass, so while he naps, I surf the net for answers. How the hell did my computer illiterate hubby do such a rotten thing?
I can't figure it out.
When he wakes I watch him out of the corner of my eye and, even though I want to kill him, I paste on a bright smile. "Hey honey," I say, "lets break into Beamers account." How can he resist? I figure I'll watch over his shoulder and then be able to reverse the process.
"Nope." Sitting cross legged on the couch Rob is the svengali of cool. My temper explodes.
"That's it," I shout, brandishing a coffee cup at his head, "fix my phone or I'll break your fingers, I'll change the passwords on all your accounts, I'll, I'll ... "
"Relax," he flips on his ipad and puts my message on his screen, "I don't know where this came from but it showed up in my picture album."
And then I get it. My co-worker, Craig, showed me how to take a picture of my screen which zipped into the cloud, landed on Rob's ipad and became a tool in his diabolical scheme.
Okay I can take a joke and to show my appreciation I'll be signing Rob up for a colonoscopy.