My Husband, My Tech Help

When I went off to college, I received two things from my father. A computer and advice to, “Find yourself a nice computer nerd.”

When Sweetface, my husband, went off to school, he also received a computer, and the advice to, “Find yourself an English Major.” Needless to say, we both followed the fatherly advice that was given to us, and maybe for the first time in history, our fathers were right. Thus I had someone to fix my computer, and Sweetface had someone to proof read his papers.

I’d never thought of our mutual needs being the ties that bound our relationship. I’d always thought it was his beautiful blue eyes, sweet disposition and spaghetti carbonara.

One of my nicknames for him is Fred, because of the CDW commercials where tech users do the kinds of things that make people who operate help desks wake up in the middle of the night weeping. “I ran out of space on my computer, so I deleted all of my files.” “I clicked on that e-mail you told us not to open.” The technologically impaired could always rely on Fred to fix things.

While I’m probably a teensy bit more tech savvy than the average American between 25 and 35, I still rely on Sweetface Fred to feed and care for our little home network, and run the VCR. It used to be that I knew how to work the VCR. But we got a new one and a digital TV, and there are so many clicks to get from cable to recording Monk for my American TV starved in-laws.

There’s nothing more wonderful than a relaxing evening of sitting in front of the TV when Sweetface asks me to do something simple, like program the VCR and with a remote in each hand, I frantically punch what I think are the right buttons to no avail. Sweetface growls, uncharacteristically, and grabs the clickers from me. Though he insists that he is mad at Panasonic and Samsung for even needing two remotes and 7 clicks to record a show, it feels like he might as well whack me on the hand and tell me if I can’t handle the remotes I don’t deserve them.

I never had delusions that I would ever be Fred to my Sweetface in any instance, but instead of keeping up with technology, I feel more and more like Martha without her chickens, as technology not only advances, but seeps into every aspect or our lives from our toasters to our toothbrushes. Which means that I am completely tech-dependent. I'd be lost without the man that spends most of his waking time learning about technology and computer programming, and some of his sleeping time dreaming about it. (Sometimes, I catch his fingers typing on the blankets while he slumbers.)

Maybe it was a mistake, getting the washer and dryer that are smarter than me.

Stone: Is Your Relationship Tech-Dependent?