Technology is ruining my marriage. I detest the Carpenter’s tablet and his obsessive need to constantly touch it, look at it, hold it and laugh with it. I used to be that tablet. I used to be his source of entertainment. And I didn’t need batteries.
But then some moron created a game where little cartoon characters battle other little dudes and their freaky creatures in a ridiculous clan war, and pretty much since that time, the Carpenter hasn’t looked up from his tablet device. It has become his television, his scoreboard, his stereo and his encyclopedia too. Hmph.
Sure, I may have an addiction to my mobile device, but even I can tuck my Blackberry in a pocket and ignore it for periods of time (really short periods of time, bordering on obsessively short). The point is I use the device to stay in touch with people in real time. At no point am I amassing imaginary armies for pretend battles. Heck no, my phone is for reality only, like when I take photos of my lunch to quell the neurosis of my friends who insist I don’t eat well enough, or to send inappropriate emoticons to friends who need a laugh.
The point here is, when the moment calls for focused attention with my mate, I am fine to shut the world down and get real. Unfortunately, the Carpenter and I rarely agree on when to turn the virtual world off.
This stems from the fact the Carpenter requires very little outside stimulation in the form of a conversation. Too bad he married a communications specialist. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into. On any given day I have at least 300 pressing matters on challenging issues that need immediate dissection, analysis and debate so that I can come to a comprehensive decision, with his input of course, and then change my mind on all of them before I wake up in the morning.
But the tablet has become a distraction. I don’t like to share the Carpenter’s attention with anyone, much less a skinny little wanna-be computer. Spare me.
One morning I tried to discuss the weekly grocery-shopping list. This was serious business. Yet my timing seemed to coincide with a war in some imaginary land, and at the same time ESPN was sending NFL scores, and the Carpenter was entirely too distracted to hear me. Speaking louder didn’t work. Slamming cupboards didn’t work. Turning up the radio to deafening volumes didn’t even stir his attention. He wanted war? Well war he was going to get.
My motive? Distract and intrigue. Using my female guise, I performed something I can only really describe as interpretative dance moves, purposefully ridiculous and not the least bit attractive. About a minute in I heard “Stop.”
It was working. I was winning the battle. With more enthusiasm, I attempted what can only be classified as gymnastics gone terribly wrong.
“Seriously. Stop.”
Winning. Unfortunately, I lost my balance and well, the interpretation went from bizarre to downright dangerous. “Fool.”
The tablet won. A stupid electronic toy defeated me. And then I remembered I still had a secret weapon. I knew how to disconnect the Internet. I always get my way, somehow.