Orgasm Post-mortem a/k/a My New Apple Computer

My New Apple Computer

I have been plagued with First World Problems lately. I have grungy funk under my fingernails from scouring the crap out of my expensive All-Clad stainless fry pan with scotchbrite pads after being inspired by the servants on Downton Abbey, which I can’t decide if I like but have now seen all of season one because what the hell else is there to watch on my 150 cable channels? I have been subsisting on my piece-of-crap computer for five years. Because I have a computer, and no one is trying to kill me like in third world countries. The speed of my floppy-drive consuming Dell conjures up thoughts of senior citizens on Hoverounds. Sending email was like getting the hiccups. I have no idea what that means, but it was utter dejection. I didn’t realize “dejection” was a real word, but if auto-correct didn’t touch it, then I guess it’s all good. This is how I get my self-esteem anymore. Not from gainful employment, but from Auto-correct. Gosh, I’m a smart lady! Auto-correct didn’t scold me once while writing that paragraph! Insert Stuart Smalley affirmation here.

Let me admit that I have absolutely no business buying an iMac. It’s an extravagant purchase in any hemisphere. I deserve cans hooked together with string to use as a cell phone. I deserve onion fax paper. I deserve the freakin’ cassette deck in my 15 year old car. My husband and I agreed I “needed” a new computer, because you can’t put a price tag on productivity, people. I’m nothing if not productive. He  requested I at least look at other computers. I took all three children (don’t you do your best thinking when your kids are running around breakable electronics?) to Best Buy and researched the field exhaustively for forty-five minutes with 22 year old Jack who my son kept calling Jake. Jack Jake was helpful, but something was lacking.

Then I took the children to the Apple store, which felt like entering Emerald City. It. Was. Beautiful. You know how you can trust a person if your dog likes them? My son, Devlin, works the same way. Devlin immediately asked the Apple Genius, David, if we could have a group hug right in the middle of Oz. David was going to indulge him until I reminded Devlin that we only hug people we actually know. I understood how Dev got confused, though. Those specialists in the mall, they can be sirens. Recall how I was ensnared by Gay Chris in the True Religion store. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read my True Religion post here. Or my True Religion: Part Deux post here. I have never felt so good about spending so much money before. Even on hookers. And really, aren’t hookers one of those items that you should really not scrimp on? Hookers and toilet paper. Cheap toilet paper totally sucks. Same with cheap hookers. I mean, so I’ve heard.

When I picked up my iMac a day later from my next Genius, the experience was nothing short of orgasmic. Genius James, of ReDo Home & Office fame, was a benevolent teacher. He made me feel better than Auto-correct.