Wasn't it Chekhov who said that if there's a gun on the mantel at the beginning of the play, it needs to go off by the end?
In honor of that literary master, let me begin by saying I am writing this post on my iPad.
Now. Let's get started.
I was invited to join a group of women on a Ladies Night Out adventure downtown. The 12 of us met at one friend's house and hopped in taxis to Rainbow Street, where we wandered and shopped our way through Souk Jara, an open air street market that runs every Friday evening during the summer. We then made our way to a trendy little restaurant that overlooks the Citadel, the ancient Roman ruins on a hill in the middle of Amman. We sat outside and ordered drinks (my margarita was about $10), appetizers (my share was about $8) and dinner (salad, $12).
After a lovely evening of chitchatting, we walked back to the first circle and hailed a few cabs to take us back home.
Fun, right? It really was, and I was so pleased to be invited out with such a fun group.
I got home early - maybe around 10? - but everyone was already asleep. Ahhh, bliss: not to have to brush teeth or read bedtime stories!
So this morning, I woke up. I made breakfast and showered and did all of those other usual morning things while I waited for Bart to return from the gym.
When he returned, he casually asked, "so, did you have any trouble starting your computer this morning?"
Ummm, no. I didn't even try to turn it on. May I ask why you want to know?
It turns out that last night, while I was out drinking my salary in one margarita glass, my husband was watching a movie with the girls. On the computer. The MacBook, to be specific. My MacBook, to be more specific still. And it just so happens that, in the course of the evening, Ainsley managed to spill a bottle of Gatorade. On the computer. On the... Oh, you get the idea. My MacBook, my beautiful almost-new MacBook, is now dead.
After Bart 'fessed up, I ran to the machine and picked it up. A few bright green drops of Gatorade leaked out of the bottom, sort of like tears. Only, you know, bright green.
So now I have no computer. I also have no rough drafts and no pictures of Jordan, because I'm an idiot who always cheerfully says, when asked if I've backed up my computer, "oh, I'm sure I'll have time to do that tomorrow!"
The computer is packed on rice because I've heard sometimes that cures iPhones that have fallen in the toilet. (to which I can only say: ewwww.) But I have little hope of reviving the beast.
Our friend Mike says I can't blame Bart: he insists that, by virtue of being a man, Bart was genetically predisposed toward failure when being asked to watch 50% of his children while his wife went out carousing. Who knows? All I know is, it's time to start saving for a new computer.
And a backup hard drive.
So, in sum: Ladies Night Out was really, really fun. And also really, really expensive.