A certain special little brother of mine has remarked that I need to add some pictures to this blog because there were too many words. My first instinct was to offer to hire him a reading tutor. Then I thought, why am I so technologically impaired that I can’t figure out how to put pictures to illustrate my manic thought processes throughout this blog? I’ve come to the point where I’ve realized that there are certain things I just cannot do. Like pass up a desert containing peanut butter...or care about who Leonardo DiCaprio wants me to vote for, or learn more than the bare minimum necessary to carry me through the age of I-things. These character flaws are what make me special.
In order to cope with anything that comes up I have married a techno-idiot savant that is happy to push me aside and figure out how to load my favorite game onto my PC or what happened to the last four hours of work that I’ve done on my computer and then somehow deleted. This is called team work. I make sure he isn’t wearing black socks with his shorts and his hair isn’t plastered within an inch of it’s life before he walks out the door in the morning, and he makes sure I don’t accidently purchase a 70's era skate from Ebay for $500,987.04. Sometimes, when my boss calls me to inform me that my margins are somehow misaligned on the latest set of dictations I’ve typed I silently hand the phone to Charlie and sit in the corner while he fixes everything with a few keystrokes. Maybe this makes me less of a self-reliant woman of the new millennium, but I don’t care. Thinking about any sort of programming gives me wrinkles and we all know that my vanity trumps any other conerns.
So, yes, Russ. I don’t know how to put pictures on my blog. Sorry. Maybe you can read every third or fourth word so you don’t get a head ache...or maybe Whitney can read it to you instead of Good Night Moon at bedtime. I’ll work on getting Charlie to fix it, after he figures out how to stop making my mouse quack like a duck instead of making the little clicking sound.