We teach our kids 'You need to learn to share', 'It feels good to share, Sweetheart.' But when it comes to some things, sharing is just not an option.
Like chocolate. Or my laptop. Even if my husband bought it for me.
Just last week, my laptop was snuggled within the confines of my sewing room. It was cramped, and I couldn't spread out to write (the fabric was in the way), but because no one was allowed in the sewing room, my technological baby was left unmolested. But that all changed when I asked if I could use the 'kids' computer desk (the computer that was there died a horrible death- or at least the monitor did), using the tactic that the kids don't need that much space just to play computer games. Whenever we get a new monitor, that is.
My plan worked, but there were some unexpected pitfalls.
It took me two days to clear off that darn desk, and another two to get all my stuff into it, organize it, and have some clear workspace. Workspace which I now have to guard like a rabid momma bear, because people are always trying to mess up my new space with their old cra...um...stuff. I've managed to keep most of the clutter at bay, but last night the unexpected happened.
It was a cold night, my hands wrapped in fingerless gloves my mother-in-law made me so I could use the computer without catching frostbite. I was playing a game on the family computer, minding my own business, when I felt a disturbance in the force. Someone was sitting at my desk. I could sense them somewhere behind me. Thinking they were there to watch my awesome gaming skills, I let them be- after all, what harm could they do sitting in my desk chair?
My neck prickled. I hear the familiar ding of my laptop being booted. I wondered if the game used a similar sound, but no, not too many monster-slicing games have a soft ding booting sound. Then I heard something that made my blood run cold.
Bing, bong-bong, bong-bong! That was no game- someone was using my laptop! Risking whiplash, I turned in surprise to see my soon-to-be-deceased love of my life start up a blank document on my laptop. My laptop.
He was Touching. My. Stuff. Without my consent. This was a blatant breaking of husband/wife protocol.
"And what do you think you're doing?" I ask, glaring at him in a way that Medusa would envy. "Just writing up some stuff for my Men's Ministry." he replied oh-so-innocently. "On my laptop? The one that has all my writing stuff exclusively on it?" I was trying to give him a chance to back away slowly, and think about what he was doing.
Then he grinned at me, all smarty-pants-like. "Well, you're playing game, and I need to do this, so I thought I'd just get it done." I raised one brow significantly, giving him the subtle signal that his life (and bed space) might possibly be in jeopardy. "And just where were you going to save it?" I inquired, again, giving him a chance to explain himself before his demise.
"On the laptop, of course." was his reply, regarding me as if I was the one being unreasonable. Hah.
"That's my writing tool, my desk, and you get your ding-dang hands off of it! There is no saving of documents on my laptop- unless it's mine!" I folded my arms, indignant. "Besides, all you had to do was ask me to get off of this computer- then you can do whatever you want!" To make my point even more clear, I stuck my tongue at him.
Then he grinned again. "That's all I wanted to do in the first place."
Grumbling, I finished my level (doing exceptionally well, since most of the monsters were now named after him), and I relinquished the computer to my husband. I plan on buying a safe for my laptop, or hide it where no one will find it. Maybe in the laundry, or in the dishwasher- or possibly the oven, since no one around here does any chores. Willingly, anyway.
Nah. I'll just put up a big sign that says,' Touch My Stuff And Die!' on my laptop- and the chocolate.
Confession of an Inktober Quitter
19 hours ago