Where's the mouse?

Where’s the mouse?

Earlier this month, I decided to convert. To Apple.

Ahhh, Macbook Air. Sleek. Light. It doesn’t heat up in my lap. Oh, and even better — it was free, inherited from my mother-in-law.

I hauled the Mac and my old PC over to my favorite computer geek. He spent two days copying all the files plus piles of emails and photos.

I was so excited when he called and said my new Airbook was ready for pick-up. Yes — my new identity. I was finally a savvy, shiny Apple person.

Now I could travel with my tiny laptop. I’d whip it out of my purse and utterly amaze my seat-mate on the plane.

Not so fast, pardner.

 I tried to embrace the new operating system. Really, I did. I wanted to like the Mac layout that crunched my calendar, emails and task list onto one tiny screen. Tried to keep breathing when my 200 favorite bookmarks got lost in translation.

Sometimes I enjoy change. But this one turned out to be too big a stretch.

About 2 weeks into my conversion experiment, I found myself cheating on Mac.   After all, P.C. understood me.  He had his quirks, but he was familiar. And with the Fall weather, I enjoyed the fact that he was, well, hotter.

Mac and I have broken up. I guess he was a little too slick to ever be the right one for me.

Oh, well. At least my cat likes sleeping on him.

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