We Know Things
If my husband and I were one person, we’d be dangerous. We’d be richer than King Midas, smarter than Albert Einstein, and better looking than the biological off spring of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
Unfortunately, we’re not the same person and although we tried a handful of times to create some beings that have all of our good traits and none our bad ones, the results were simply miniature “we’s” with a few added traits of their own. Their potential is still awesome, but I’m afraid my husband and I are, individually, only half of what we need to be for true “greatness”.
My husband is the technological wizard who has never figured out where the laundry basket is or what it’s for. He’s brilliant. He understands how the universe works and why you need to know what Pi is. He’s a “computer whisperer”. All he has to do is stand near my computer and it starts functioning again, but he can’t balance a checkbook to save his soul.
He knows the periodic table by heart, can recite the Jabberwocky from start to finish, and has a photographic memory for every Star Trek episode ever aired. He knows how to program a computer in five different languages and does that “just for fun”, but he’ll have to try three drawers before he can find a fork.
He operates on a different plane of existence than I do. I know things too. Things that amaze him.
For example, I know how to read music. I know by instinct when fresh black cherries will arrive in the produce department. I know how to get chocolate out of a carpet and what brand of bandaid sticks best, but I can’t operate the TV remote with any amount of proficiency.
I know how to prune a rose bush, the difference between a debit and a credit, that moss is found on the north side of a tree, and the definition of the word hypertrophied. (In case you’re wondering, it means obese.)
I know what “present participle” means, how to stop a baby from hiccupping, and the difference between a chicken pox rash and poison ivy, but an error on my computer screen is the beginning of a really bad day.
My husband tries to help me learn.
“So, did you reboot your computer?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Can you see your task bar?”
“Did you check if you have a floppy in your floppy drive?”
“You don’t have a clue, do you?” he says shaking his head.
“Nope. And I’m not sure where to get one either. I asked a nice lady at Walmart and she said they were fresh out.”
“Hey! Don’t mock me!” I said indignantly. “I bet you don’t know your own shoe size!”
“What’s that got to do with your computer?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to sound smart.”