My laptop had a stroke.

There were no warning signs. One minute all my gigahertz and jigowatts were working fine, and the next; nothing…nada…zippo. It wasn’t a sniffle or a snort. It was sudden death.

Sensing that something really, really bad had happened, I immediately called my local Apple store to make an appointment with a Mac surgeon. Apparently, though, there must have been some kind of laptop plague going around, because there were no appointments to be had.

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“We can see you on Monday,” some teenaged Mac geek told me.

“Ack! I can’t wait three days,” I pleaded. “I have an article to write…emails to send. I have to update my Facebook status!!!”

“We do have openings for iPods,” he informed me.

“That would be fine…if there was a problem with my IPOD!” I yelled. “Please, isn’t there a wait list I can get on or someone I can bribe to get in?”

“Monday,” he said unsympathetically.

“FINE!!” I hung up the phone and seethed. I imagined all kinds of tech-torture I could inflict on him. I willed his Macbook to delete his Instagram page. I cursed his iTunes with Perry Como songs. I sent a psychic message denying him access to YouTube.

For two days I wandered around my house in a laptop-less fog. From time to time I would log on to my kids’ desktop, but I couldn’t get on any of my sites because all my passwords…were on my laptop.

Eventually, I just gave up altogether and ate chocolate.

“Hey honey, did you get my email?’ asked my husband when he called in the midst of my Mac-meltdown.

“No,” I cried. “I can’t get any emails because MY LAPTOP DIED!”

“Did you try running a disk utility and doing a permissions repair?” he asked me.

“Can I run with a cup of tea and blow dry my hair?” I asked him.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“I dunno. I thought that’s what you said,” I responded.

He sighed. I think he was beginning to understand just how much of a computer moron his wife really was.

Meanwhile, I was starting to realize that the possibility of a major repair could leave me without my computer for a week or more. There was no way one chocolate bar was going to do it. I was in for the whole Wonka factory.

Finally, Monday arrived. I checked my pulse to make sure I was still breathing and then I made my way to the Apple store. I waited patiently for my name to be called and then I approached the Genius Bar.

“So what’s the problem here?” my genius asked me.

“My-desktop-froze-and-my-keyboard-isn’t-working-so-I-can’t-get-my-email-and-I-can’t-get-onto-FACEBOOK-and-I-think-I’m-gonna-die!!!!” I blathered.

He picked up the laptop, looked it over and then disappeared into the back. Five minutes later he came back with my laptop, all lit up and ready to go.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it,” he said.

“It’s fixed?” I asked incredulously.

“It’s fixed,” he assured me.

“Wow!! I am so relieved,” I said. “So what was the problem, anyway?”

He smiled. “There was chocolate stuck under the keys.”

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