Is there anything that can reduce a woman to a sobbing, swearing wretch – other than when she inadvertently downloads “malicious malware?”

I’d had a busy day of writing and stayed up to finish while my family snoozed.  My eyes felt gritty as I blinked from fatigue.  A glance at the microwave clock confirmed it was twelve midnight, beyond the ‘witching hour.’   If I stayed up much longer, I’d morph into a witch.  And not the button-nosed ‘Twilight’ kind.  Naw, we’re talking warts, sags under the eyes, a cackle.  We’re talking Hansel and Gretel.  Small children screaming and other women judging.

I sat, clicked… and then something went wrong.  The computer screen looked funny.  Dear God, not this.  Not a freakin’ flippin’ virus.  My head throbbed, my ears rang, I felt a surge of rage and violent impulses.  And no, I hadn’t watched “The Real Housewives.”  No, I was in deep do-do, because I’d done a no-no.  I uploaded some kind of malware, which is a quasi-virus, according to the Guru IT Guy, El Husbando.

The first sign… my anti-virus software choked and gagged.  Second sign, a pop-up with Bill Gates rolling his eyes.  Third sign, the mouse under my hand bit me. 

Those tricky @#$% hackers connived their way onto my laptop and stuck out their tongues at my technical ignorance.  How is it that Stephen Hawking and others can contemplate the mysteries of the universe, and I don’t know a “control panel” from wood paneling?

Computers.  Bah, scum bug.  Only one thing can make me this desperate, and that’s when I’m holiday shopping at Woodfield Mall, searching for an empty parking slot.  Turns out, the only available parking is in a forest preserve.  Near the Wisconsin border.

Wonder what your idea of a nightmare is.  When your computer goes kablooey?  Facing a pile of laundry that must be mounted with a rope, pick and a rescue team?  Facing a three-way mirror in a dressing room in your granny panties and a Playtex that should’ve been retired two years ago?