When I have a problem with my computer, my husband offers to share his until mine is fixed; but that's like taking him off life support. He invariably gasps for air to tell me I could have bought a new computer with the money I'd spent on repairs.

Computers are being made better, smaller and lighter every day. There's no right time to buy one - but I did. I bought a notebook computer. If buying it was a mistake, it would be a small mistake.

Then I bought software to fight viruses, sweep spies and improve word processing. When my computer left the store, it had more new programs than NBC.

Although compute means to make sense, there's a lot about computers that doesn't compute to me. I don't know what makes software soft. I don't know if a gigabyte hurts. I don't know how a computer works - I just want it to.

Unfortunately, by day two it wasn't working. My husband had killed it with kindness by installing a second, anti-virus program. When the program was removed, my computer was born again.

Thinking our working relationship might be better if we were on a first-name basis, I named it Steinbeck. I spend a lot of time with my computer - why not spend it in good company. Besides...it was a much better name than the one's my husband had been calling it.

I gave Steinbeck the dignified Times Roman font and made it size sixteen so he wouldn't have to wait for me to find my glasses before we could work together. In spite of my thoughtfulness, however, Steinbeck continues to act like a guy I dated in the tenth grade - trying to do things I don't want to do.

I only want Steinbeck to e-mail, connect me to the internet and word process. Checking my grammar and spelling, as well as looking things up in the dictionary and thesaurus should keep him busy - but allow him time turned off for good behavior. After we've gotten to know each other, I suppose he can occasionally Google me.

Steinbeck is going to be my friend. Steinbeck is going to be my friend!