Last year, I bought my wife a computer. It was mid-June. By the start of August, I realized that I would never get to use it. I took a seat and installed Dropbox to transfer some files and songs to my laptop. I figured it would take an hour or two for Dropbox to transfer all the files to my laptop.
My wife hovered over my shoulder, nervously. This was the longest she had been off the computer lately. Convinced I was going to break it or, perhaps install Linux, she sat right next to me, watching my every move.
I couldn’t work with her hovering, so I said “All yours. I do need to get some music for my laptop, later.”
As I walked away, my wife gripped me in the biggest bear hug, ever. I managed to turn around in time to get a kiss and a “I love you so much!”
Outwardly, I rolled with it and smiled. Inwardly, I was concerned about my wife’s new and deep-seated computer addiction. She released me and skipped back to the computer.
“I love it!” she shouted, over strains of Alphaville’s Forever Young.
No matter how concerned I became or how strange my wife became, I would continue to smile. It seemed safer that way.
“You picked every single one!” she said as BNL blared from the computer.
A few minutes later she said, “And you got them in the right order. But can you fix this?”
I nodded, which is always my default response to crazy. I leaned over her shoulder.
“What can I do?” I asked. That sounded very non-specific and appropriate.
“How do I rename a playlist?” I looked over her shoulder. “Name it ‘Birthday’.”
Epic Song List
Baffled, I said “Your birthday is tomorrow, so I hope you don’t think that is your gift.” Of course, I received a much smaller hug for that comment.
Later that night, I confirmed my suspicions. When I gave up the computer, I was in the middle of creating a playlist for myself. One of us must have dragged the “Top 25 Most Played” songs into my new playlist.