Every day after posting to this blog, if David the Husband is home, I bug him mercilessly until he reads what I have written and then I ask him what he thinks of it. (I need constant reassurance; I think I have told you that once upon a post.) In response, I usually hear “good one” and occasionally “great one.” Yesterday, however, I heard, “It was okay.” Huh? Then he muttered something about whining and maybe some people are into that and his voice trailed off and he vanished before I could quiz him further.
So I re-read the blog, about a million and one times and, yeah, I guess I was whining or whingeing as the Brits say. You know, I think I’ll use their term from now on. Describing what-I-wrote-yesterday as whingeing makes it seem like my complaints were civilized, perchance sophisticated.
Obviously however, one complaint is handled as I do have internet again. A very nice able-to-understand lady (don’t you love it when you get those) who lives in Louisiana and sounds exactly like Holly Hunter worked with me and repaired my connection for much less than I thought it would cost. This made me happy. I told her about the Holly Hunter thing because it was stupefying me the entire 30 plus minute telephone call and I have very little oral self-control (don’t get all pervy on me; you know I did not mean it that way). After explaining to her who Holly Hunter was, she said she would take it as a compliment which I told her it was and I think we both felt better afterwards.
Admittedly, I could whinge less; I should whinge less. By George, I will whinge less. When the morose monster possesses me and I publish what it has to say, I worry my mother (and Aunt Shirley and Aunt Bonnie and even Michelle the very nice Shetland Shepherd from Oregon who I have never met personally but speak with via email often). I will exorcise the beast and do my best to stop him from returning and writing whingeing blog posts.
Finally, I did find out something new about myself yesterday after spending my Sunday attempting to repair our computers’ connection to cyberspace. I cannot live without the internet, no way, no how. And if loving it is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
