Mrs. Teabody Is Not One for Change

Good Morning, Gentle Reader. Mrs. Teabody trusts you are as annoyed as can be with the latest in a series of time changes. Who decides such things anyway? It occurs to Mrs. Teabody that whoever makes such decisions will one day simply get it into his head to move the clock forwards SEVEN hours or to move the clock backwards two hours and forty-five minutes, and then what a fine pickle for everyone, do you not concur? Regardless of  having to endure such whimsicality, Mrs. Teabody has noticed signs of spring everywhere and shall today cast 0-45-0 all though the flower borders and prune off a few branches of forsythia for forcing. You should do so, too. Spring only comes once a year, after all, so wallow in it and all its commensurate joys with abandon.

The Teabodys enjoyed a wonderful sojourn in Mexico and Mrs. Teabody came back with renewed energy to tackle two problems which have plagued her for some time. The first of these was the purchase of an extremely portable electronic device for word processing and once Mrs. Teabody had made the decision to make the purchase she chose the Super-Duper Kindle Fire and its accompanying Belkin cover with external keyboard. Isn't Mrs. Teabody clever? She had, after all, made inquiries. She had, after all, considered feedback. She commited and in less time than it takes to change the time on all the devices at Chez Teabody, the brilliant little machine was being handed her by the ever-handsome and adorable young man from the UPS. (Everyone should wear the color brown so well, n'est-ce pas?) 

Problem #1 A Portable word processing device. No electronic device comes without some its own set of hoops and hurtles to overcome but Mrs. Teabody was able to kindle the Kindle so to speak and soon enough it was chatting happily with the wireless network and she was moving about the cyber world with dexterity. She did enlist the help of that wizard, Mr. Teabody, to help her CHARGE the keyboard, (Mon Dieu!)but she prides herself still on being able to post her entire novel as an E-mail attachment and posting the lot to a new dedicated E-mail address just for the Kindle. Voila! There was the novel in vivid HD glory, and there sat the keyboard charged and ready.  Creative genius was now unencumbered by walls, geography or bad WiFi connections. Clunk. What was that? Clunk. That was the sound of the keyboard being unable to get inside the document in that format. After several frustrating attempts, a call to "Help" was made and it was then that Mrs. Teabody learned that she was not going to be able to do what she wished to do with her new device and wouldn't she like to watch a lovely video instead? No. Thank You. Listen to music? No. Thank You.  Before very long "Help" and Mrs. Teabody had concluded that as comely and zippy as the new device was, it was not ever going to be a magically portable word processing device. Not ever. A very short-lived relationship, Mrs. Teabody regrets.

Problem #2 A Replacement for the Ancient Motor Car. The cowardliness of Mrs. Teabody  in her dotage stands in sharp contrast to the intrepidness of Mrs. Teabody  in her youth. That said, Mrs. Teabody knows that her beloved but ancient motor car cannot endure forever and from time to time, she dons her big girl knickers ( no remarks you lot!) and sets out to purchase a replacement. These ill-fated enterprises have been chronicled, but what is one more? Suffice to say, the Teabodys had an appointment with "Jeff" to test drive two lovely motor vehicles and on a bright blue recent Thursday they found themselves tooling along Ragged Edge Road first in a stunning white turbo Veloster and second in a spiffy-looking white Elantra GT and third in a vanilla silver Genesis. 

Have you ever gone to a high school dance wanting to fall in love? Have you ever sat in a darkened theatre wishing to see a production that would move you to tears? For twenty-five thousand dollars, Mrs. Teabody expects  to feel something resembling the feeling she felt when she first laid eyes on the Triumph Spitfire of her youth. She wants the excitement of a convertible; she wants a stereo system that  delivers every note played by every instrument; she wants a ride where every turn feels as liquid as Mercury; she wants to put a real key into a real ignition and turn it into a roar, albeit a muted roar. And until that happens, what's the point, Gentle Reader? Truly. What's the point?