Good morning Boys and Girls.

In what's been a strange confluence of computer purchases and sales over the past month, I added one Saturday simply because it was too great a bargain to ignore, and as a result, I learned - again -  how true it is that men and women just plain think differently.

Friday was SweetLady's birthday. My job, being the loving, caring, gentle suitor I am, has been to continue telling her how great she looks - for a fifty-year-old. (She's far, far younger than that, and in truth, looks even younger than she is.) Regardless, my teasing means, of course, that my upper right arm is now full of bruises - bruises I'm quite sure I could use as evidence against her should I decide to go to the police. I might, in fact, except I'm afraid I'd end up talking to a female officer, who, once hearing both sides, would probably render my left arm black and blue as well - just as a matter of principle.

So it was that Friday evening, SweetLady, the kids and I had a nice dinner at one of the ubiquitous Italian chain restaurants where, after the meal, she was serenaded by a huge baritone who sang Happy Birthday in Italian before the complimentary cake and ice cream. I'm not a big fan of all these chains, but I must say, it was nice.

We were under the gun a bit at the end of the meal because the kids' father was to pick them up at eight-thirty at her house for his weekend with them. We made it back just a minute or so before he pulled up, and he wasn't at all pleased that he had to wait an extra two minutes for the kids to grab their things. Nothing new there; the man is mad at all of humanity.

I'd been driving all day to get there in time for dinner, and was pretty pooped out afterward - so I wasn't the greatest company in the world after the kids left and was in bed by about ten-thirty where I slept soundly through the night - a rarity.

Saturday morning, SweetLady slept in, having stayed up later than me by a couple of hours. I was up early, since, not only had I gone to bed so early, but, this was my first morning here and it always takes a day or two for my body to adjust to Central Time. I had coffee on the glider, then a walk. Eventually I decided to go to a garage sale I'd seen a sign for where a fellow was selling a nice little iMac G4 with plenty of memory, some very nice - and expensive - graphics software, and good speakers - all for 50 bucks. Because I've been watching the used mac market so closely the last few weeks, I knew this puter would easily bring $150 - 300 with a quick ad on Craig's List, so I powered it up, checked it out, and bought it.

The rather elderly man who sold it to me, explained it had been his nephew's computer, who bought it for another young relative to use for a while. The nephew had moved west, bought a newer and more powerful mac, and didn't want this one back when the other relative was done with it.

I got it back home and decided to wipe as much stuff off the hard drive as I thought prudent before making a decisions about (a.) how much to ask for it, (b.) whether there were any programs I might want, or (c.) maybe keeping it for myself.

Alas, the Administrator password, was not, "administrator" or "12345" or 'imac" or any of the obvious passwords people usually set when they're selling a computer, plus, since there were far more documents left on the computer than is sensible, I realized that no one had done anything to erase any of what had been on the thing since it had been used as someone's everyday machine. After trying a half-dozen passwords, the hint "nails" appeared, but "hammer", "screws", "staples" and any number of other words suggested by the hint failed to gain me access. Not, "tacks", nor "spikes", or "fasteners", or "pound". Nothing.

-Another half-hour of messing with it did no good.

SweetLady and I had to go downtown just before noon, and I stopped by the garage sale again to ask the man who'd sold me the computer if he'd call his nephew to try to get the password when he had time. He said he'd try, and I gave him my number.

Then, on the way downtown, I told SweetLady about the predicament, and then told her about the hint-word, "nails".

She thought for about a half-second, and said "manicure".

Duh.

She was right, of course.

Men and women do think differently.


Be good to everyone.