Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Silver Lining My A...

     "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.



Sunday, July 15, 2012

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Stuck Like Glue


"Oh my," say's a woman as she peers at my wings, "I wanted to be a stewardess." She sighs, then claps her hands. "Let me tell you about the interview."

Checking my watch, I nod.

"Well, it's a long story."

"Better paraphrase," I say, "I have a flight to catch."

"Oh okay, but let me set the stage." She wiggles her hips, stamps her feet and waves a hand in the air. "At the last minute a friend told me about an open house for prospective stews, and even though my hair was long and thick," she shakes her silvery bobbed cut, "she suggested I add a hairpiece and wear false eyelashes."

I smile. On a whim, I've just purchased my first set of lashes.

She laughs. "I wore a red, white and blue mini skirt, a hairpiece anchored at the crown of my head and of course I had a small purse with a chain strap. Everybody who was anybody owned a purse with a chain link strap. They were very hip."

So much for a quick story, but I have time.

"Okay," she stamps her feet. "go go boots in white and I was all set. Only it was a humid day and the glue on one of my lashes got sticky and the damned thing slid around and I didn't know it was stuck about a inch above my right eye." She waggles her brows and gives a significant look. "I'm leaving out a lot of detail."

"Don't worry, " I grin, "I'm getting a great visual."

"Well, I set off to the interview. The reception area was on the lower level and I'm halfway down the stairs before I decide to let go of the rail so I'll look poised." She sniggers. "I tripped."

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh is right. I tripped. I tripped, went down several steps face first and knocked the hair piece askew." She grins. "Oh let me tell you, three girls were laughing and the rest were thunderstruck."

"So, what did you do?" I ask, knowing she doesn't need any encouragement.

"I tucked my hair under my arm, looked around the waiting room, then took the last spot on a love seat, only I was so nervous, I knocked a girl off the other end."

The clerks are leaning on the counter and we're hanging on her every word.

"Okay, so you know I have an eyelash stuck under my brow, I've fallen down the stairs and all I can do is stuff the hair piece in my purse." She rolls her eyes. "I'll have you know that the interviewer was really sweet. She told me if I didn't make the final cut, to please try again and not to take it as a rejection."

She grins. We're captivated.

She claps her hands again. "Well, I thanked her and barreled out of that room, stopping only when I heard crashing behind me." Her eyes gleam. "Remember the purse with the chain link strap?"

We nod.

"A corner of the table cloth, caught in the purse strap, was attached to the cubicle." She grins. "Turns out those cubicles were all attached and when I charged off, they fell like dominoes."

"Oh no."

She grins at us. "I looked at that lovely young lady and told her if she didn't tell anyone I'd ever been there, I wouldn't either."

I grinned all the way to work.