Idiot Proof

"This is ridiculous. Clearly these people don't know what they're talking about when they say this stuff is "intuitive". I can't make head's or tales out of this thing. The whole screen is jumping and sliding. It's giving me an aneurysm. Vivie!" Viv closes her eyes, drops her chin to her chest and takes a long, slow, cooling breath in through her nose, just like the yogi with the ratty dreadlocks tells her to. Why do people still wear patchouli, especially in a hot yoga room? She snickers under her breath and nods to herself. "Vivie! I can't make the screen do what I want it to do. You have to help me!" Her dad's plaintive whine pierces her momentary reverie like buckshot through a stained glass window, exploding the tempered red, purple and blues of her deep breathing ritual into pebbles of beach glass strewn all over the kitchen floor. "Ok dad, I'll take a look, just gimme a sec here to finish the dishes." Why she ever thought a tablet was good idea for her dad escapes her now. It's been three days of complaining and irritation, on both their parts. User friendly, out of the box ready. Huh. They should have helpers for this, someone she can call to come over and hand him off to. It's like dealing with her kids all over again only this time it's worse because he just has no patience. Wait. Well, that's an idea. Viv picks up the phone. Calls Darren. "Hi hun, it's mom. Yeah, I know. Look, here's the deal. You get the car for the weekend, full tank, if you can get yourself over here now and help your grandfather deal with his tablet thingy. I'm at my wit's end. Yes, dinner's here. No, she can't come- I need you, and only you. She'll just be a distraction. For both of you. Fine. I'll tell him to expect you. Love you, hun." Viv smiles and feels her forehead relax as her shoulders retreat back down towards the floor. This sandwich generation thing is for the birds.

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