Our little notebook investment arrived yesterday. A little sleek black Asus meant to simply help us store the wealth of information I will be shoving into it this March because Shawn and I are spending four days at Disney.
Originally, we were simply going to buy a lot of storage cards for my digital camera, cell phone and video camera. We realized this plan was not-so-brilliant and Shawn, my one true geek went shopping around for other options.
The little notebook is perfect. It’s all shiny black with that New Computer smell and nothing delights me more than watching my husband come skipping home when we have new gadgets for him to play with. He literally spent the entire night setting it up, removing programs, installing the ones we use, customizing as well as tweaking. During all of this he generally kept up and entire line of conversation excitedly extolling the add ons, features, and wonderful uses this new notebook will bring. He might as well have been four years old again–skipping through the Star Wars toy section. His eyes were bright and his hands expressive, he’d stop for five seconds to press a button here and there or type something then continue telling me of dis wondrous shiny device we had purchased.
Sadly, my excitement only ran as far as, Neato! A new thingie to type on and decorate with the added bonus of being transportable! and to name it Piddles the Notebook.
I had an even more difficult time focusing on anything he had to say. As he was babbling happily away about what programs were installed and what weren’t, he was fiddling with a removable stick of ram the entire time. It’s on a long, long string meant to be worn about the neck. He’d start spinning it to the right and winding it around his fingers until it stopped short. Then, in mid-sentence, he’d start swinging it to the left until the string was fully wound around his fingers just to immediately switch directions and repeat.
After about six minutes of being entranced by this as if I were a three-week old kitten, I shook my head abruptly and demanded, “What are you doing?”
He stopped in mid-speech about being surprised how fast it was, given how small the notebook was, eyebrows quirking upward. “With what? Huh?”
I fluttered my hands absently in his string-spinning direction. “What are you doing with the swinging and the thing and the–wtf?–is this some sort of weird geek sexual strip routine I’m not aware of? Like a routine featuring a feather boa except–”
He interrupted me entirely calmly and as if he’d been waiting all his life for this moment to say a single line he’d been saving for decades.
“Don’t deny it. You find it sexy when I swing my big ram stick.”
And it is in those moments when I’m done staring agog or laughing my fool ass off, that I realize each day I love him more and more. Big hard drive and all.