…everything gets fracked.
I’ve seen how nutso my sons get during a full moon. January was bad, April I almost sold them…that means July oughta been just swell. Once a quarter, that seems to be their M.O.
And now my modem/router has gotten into the act.
Maude the Pre-Menopausal Modem is what I’ve decided to call her. Roughly every month she gets a bug up her ass and stops working. No warning. No reason. I just have to go into the other room, drag a chair over to the bookcase, climb up, pull the power cord from the router and turn off the modem. Wait thirty seconds and reverse the process. Several times a day. I’ve thought about offering her some red wine and chocolate, but she intimidates me. She might just go on strike for a longer period of time, forcing me to…gasp!…call tech support.
Oh GOD, please, not that! Not tech support! Tech support is routed through Mumbai. Half my friends growing up were of East Indian descent, I talked to their parents often…and I still can’t understand a word of the folks working tech support. And your name isn’t Steve or Caroline…trust me, I can pronounce your name! Please, not tech support! I can’t pay a babysitter for the two days it would take me to go through tech support!
So Maude the Pre-Menopausal Modem and I have a tenuous relationship. I understand she gets pissy once a month or so and kowtow to her…and she deigns to work for me.
A disfunctional relationship at its best.