Big, baleful eyes with the innocence of a swaddled, newborn lamb look up at me and blink ignorantly. “But I don’t understand,” the poor PC snuffles, “Connect you to what?”
And while the pure-hearted, dreadfully misunderstood laptop offers you a tearful hug instead of a http://www.whatever-the-crap, you (the writer with a honking huge novel to shove over the finish line) cannot be appeased.
So, as dawn of your work-week rumbles to life, you are cast as a Trump-like bully with the compassion of a tree stump.
Oh, yeah. I’m feeling good about today.
Chloe the Heartless