"You say it's gone? Just like that? After all we've been through together? Where'd you put it? You're doing this to me on purpose, aren't you? What did I ever do to you to deserve such disloyalty, betrayal and secrets? I hate you! Drop dead. But first give me my missing file you freak."

My computer remained calm and sat there with that same blank look on its face, insisting that no such file ever existed. The one I just spent three hours writing and auto-saving every three minutes.

I called my husband at work. It's either his fault or his problem to fix when anything technical misfires in this house. "Oh my gawd, did someone die?" he whispered into the phone. "No, worse. The computer ate my column." "It's got to be there. Did you save it?" "Of course I saved it! What do you think I am, stupid?" "I didn't say you were stupid, Karen. Technically challenged maybe but not stupid."

"I saved it I'm telling you. I didn't do anything different today than I've been doing for two years now. I even gave it a little manila folder with its name on it." "So open the folder." "I did and it's gone, sob, all gone!"

Then came his famous words with a sigh, "Can it wait until I get home?" "Oh sure, it's too late now. I'm ruined. I can't think, I'm exhausted, I want to kick something, I want my old IBM Selectric."

Life was simple back in high school typing class. My biggest stress was the dreaded time test. That and the teacher only looking my way the single time during the entire hour when I looked down at my fingers. The Selectrics were hot stuff back in '81 but I want one now.

My husband came home with a new computer, "Happy Anniversary, honey. This should keep you from calling me at work in hysterics." The next morning he left me at the kitchen table with instructions to stop biting my nails and try it out.

I sat. It sat. I looked at. It looked back. I touched a key. It didn't bite me. I opened a blank page and typed asdfghjkl. I hit save, closed the program and reopened it. I found my document, still saved, asdfghkl.

Encouraged, I spent two hours writing a witty column about my wedding big hair, ugly dresses, the usual. I saved it; called my husband and asked, "Now how do I print it?" "Can it wait till I get home?"

He opened the file and printed my masterpiece, "asdfghkl". No big hair, ugly dresses, or elderly uncles break-dancing across the country club floor. We returned the computer.

I'm still looking for the Selectric of my youth.

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