It’s Charlie’s birthday. He’s 43. I haven’t yet decided if he’ll make it 44.
See, he’s Safety Man. He’s the guy who reads our insurance policies once a year to be sure we’re properly covered. He runs a credit report annually to ensure nothing has gone awry. There is no entrance to our home that isn’t lit well enough to see from space. All of our outlets have surge protectors; our light bulbs are energy efficient; our bills are paid on time.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking these are good qualities. I suppose in a theoretical world that would be true. But here on Earth or more precisely, in Kerri’s world, this is gigantic pain in my arse.
Along with all those other habits comes a need to protect our computers from hackers, spammers, viruses and any other diabolical schemes. You could run a small country’s black ops from this house. I’m not kidding. He might actually be a spy and not an engineer. I wouldn’t know.
The computer protections mean regularly changing passwords on various machines. I don’t know what, but there is some kind of a system. He tried to explain it to me, but I blacked out from boredom. The upshot is that from time to time THIS happens.
Of course, he has a lot of other good qualities. Don’t ask me to name many of them because I’m still enraged over the computer password situation.
I suppose, if pressed, I could point out that he’s a really good dad. While that’s great for Jackson, it’s also good for me. I need a break from being the only face this kid has to talk to. He has a lot of words. I understand, mind you. I have a lot of words, too.
It’s just that sometimes I need him to send those words in another direction, and Charlie is really great about listening. Or rather, giving enough nonverbal cues that he can keep talking and empty himself out so I don’t have to answer who would win in a fight: a cockroach or a spider?
Also, he doesn’t suck as friend. He’s the best one I’ve got. So I should probably keep him around. If for no other reason than the nonverbal cues that let me empty myself of words.
So fine. He gets to live. And I’ll be nice to him. I won’t throw my laptop at him in a fit of rage when he enters the door tonight.
Happy Birthday Charlie! I’m awfully glad you were born.