Damsels in distress
Someone ought to start a business rescuing damsels in distress. These are the single career women who are totally helpless when it comes to the everyday maintenance.
When I spot a crack on the ceiling, I think that the roof will collapse.
When I notice that my kitchen tiles are falling off, I think I've got rising damp.
If I need to fix something, I don't have the strength, the know-how, or the stamina.
A few days ago, I got my computer upgraded. Notice that I didn't say that I upgraded my computer, but that somebody else upgraded it for me. I had been using my PC with all its ailments in the most limited of capacities. I was careful to open only one application and refrain from my usual power user frenzy.
Four years ago, my 300-MHz, 128 MB RAM PC was state-of-the-art. Now, it's just a deadweight space-hogger. I learned dependency and helplessness when I had my computer guru friend around. After his departure from my life, I learned to crawl on my crippled computer knees. It was slow, but it was connected to my printer.
Once upon a time, I was an electrical engineering student. I've long since abdicated this claim to technological familiarity. Being surrounded by guys made me lazy. I reasoned that guys were thrilled by the challenge of technological advancement and complexity. So I let them play with their toys.
Let them fix the boiler. Let them screw on the right lightbulb. Let them perform open-heart surgery on my PC. But give me the perfect, fault-free result.
Perhaps the business of rescuing damsels in distress already exists. It's that age-old tradition called marriage.
16 June 2002 Sunday
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