My Wife Scores a Cr-48, Novelists Rejoice

I'm amazed at fate's sense of humor.

So, earlier this afternoon, I'm back home from school, enjoying the good times with my wife.  Our daughter is asleep and the world is at peace (well, except for Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, Afghanistan . . . okay, our apartment was at peace).

Thanks, PCMag.com

All of a sudden, I hear a knock on the door.  Sweet!  Gleeful that my Conflict of Laws casebook had finally come in the mail (I expedited the thing last Thursday!), I sprang to my feet.  When I opened the door, I asked the guy if it were my casebook and received a "Dude, do you really think I care?  Just sign the delivery," kind of look.  So I did.

Turns out it was a lovely, pristine, new Cr-48 for my wife!

Okay, let's put this in perspective.  My wife fills out one application, stating how she's a stay-at-home mom, who runs her own business, and wants a quick an easy device, so she can spend more time with her family.  Bingo bango, she gets a laptop, at our door, when we (at least I) least expect it.

The CA?  I filled out five million applications, proclaiming how I am the coolest Googler ever, that shipping me a Cr-48 will make Google the wealthiest entity in history and simultaneously achieve world peace.  I seriously filled out a form like every morning (maybe they sent me one just to end my chirping?).

The wait; the anxiety.

One day, I'm checking the trusty Cr-48 shipping tracker (now dead), and, to my amazement, I see a device that was slated for my zip code, and then delayed . . .  Next thing I know, my wife brings in a UPS sticker, saying someone tried to drop off a package for me and, rather than leave it at our door, carried it away (I think UPS lacked a key to our complex, at the time).

So, I look up the tracking code and, sure enough, it's mysteriously a six pound object (cue Twilight Zone music).  Now, I'm filling out an online form to have UPS call me, so I can find out where to pick up the package up because I'm giddier than a high school senior who just won state (you can picture the F-Word, here, because my team failed to even make it to the playoffs -- or, if you prefer, picture me as a 7-year-old celebrating that victory).

After waiting an hour and a half (UPS is supposed to call me within an hour), I call UPS to ask what's going on and am told I can pick up my package, after hours (so around 7), in downtown Cincinnati.

Cut to the UPS warehouse scene.  No package yet.  Anxiety begins to set in:  What if it's a box of dandelion greens sent from my mom!?!  (Which would be the coolest thing ever -- next to getting a Cr-48.)

Maybe next time.

My wife entertains our daughter by pushing around a package dolly with her, receiving a stinging rebuke from another woman about safety and child labor laws (okay, just safety).

Ironic, don't ya think?

Finally, a UPS worker behind the desk calls out my name.  The moment has come!  Oh my gosh.  The box looks so plain, it must be dandelion greens!  Noooo!!!!


We get in the car, I'm about to have a nervous breakdown, I finally open up the package and, Yeeeeesssss!  "There's the dented beatle!  Loiafoaijfe!!!!"

Like I say, I'm amused at fate's sense of humor.  A little Alanis Morissette, anyone?

Turns out my wife was convinced she would get a Cr-48 all along . . .  "It figurs."