Sunday, February 03, 2008

I am woman

Tonight I hooked up a dvd player. The last one recently began refusing to open its little dvd player mouth; and then, when it finally would open, it would just as quickly slam shut again before I had a chance to put a disc on its little dvd player tongue. And then it would make this sickly whirring and knocking and buzzing sound which was, I'm sure, the sound of my dvd player laughing at me.

At any rate, hooking up a new dvd player shouldn't be anything particularly noteworthy - I've certainly completed a number of similar tasks before. But this time it seems my television is sufficiently old enough as to be incompatible with just about anything I might want to plug into it. Therefore, this particular hook-up job required plenty of adapter cables and cussing.

I'm not a frequent adapter cable shopper, surprisingly enough. I'm also not much of an ask-a-sales-person-for-help kind of shopper. I'm far more likely to purchase and return the same wrong cable three times before finally giving up and just buying a new tv. Why? Because I'm afraid they're going to laugh at me after I leave the store. Seriously. I'm afraid that if I ask which adapter would best fit my adapting needs, the shaggy-haired, pimple-faced Fred Meyer sales associate is going to spend the next three hours marveling at the depth of my stupidity. (But don't worry - my shrink says we're close to a break-through on that one.)

But, because I am a super genius capable of making sense out of a relatively simple series of cables, I selected the correct adapter set on the first try, and had the whole system plugged in and running 90 seconds after tearing into the package. And then I had a glass of wine to celebrate the fact that I have not yet turned into my mother.

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