Sitting around Panera on Saturday morning with my running group, the Blueliners, my friend Thad mentioned his internet connection was down at home.
"Ours is out too," I said. "They're coming Sunday to fix it."
"Do you have DSL?" asked Wayne, the techie guy Thad had been talking to about the downed internet.
I stared blankly at both of them. "My internet is down," I repeated.
They looked at each other and grinned. "Do you know who you make your checks out to?" Wayne asked kindly.
I hesitated. "Road Runner?"
"You have cable," said Wayne and Thad together.
Sometimes my lack of all things technical appalls me. God help me if something happens to Blair or he ever leaves me. It would be only a matter of days before every technical item in my life would explode in my face.
And don't even get me started on the fiscal matters. Blair has tried to interest me in portfolios and investments but I just can't gather the energy to care. Mainly because with him here, I don't have to. I know it's very "1950s housewife" of me not to take a more active role, but my eyes just start bleeding if I look at rows of numbers for too long.
In deference to my lack of interest, we have "the notebook." The notebook is a big red binder listing our every account, account number, account contact info, and what I'm supposed to do with all these things if I'm ever left on my own. I suspect the notebook is a paper notebook because Blair doesn't trust my skill set to access the same information in an online format.
Which is totally unfair. I could do it.
Just so long as the cable-ABC-DSL-thingamabobbie doesn't go out.