Kitty Chat

Sometimes… not often, mind you… but sometimes… I am really lucky.

For some reason, understood only by ‘men who do complicated computer things’, the technician at the Pontivy Library in the Computer Suite has decided to grant me special treatment. This is wicked cool…

I have been going into the Pontivy Médiathèque for a few months now. It is first come, first served and since it is free to all, there is always a queue of pre-adolescent Asian boys who have been standing there for hours to get a space so they can go online and play some Computer Game like San Andreas or Hellboy or, what? SimCity 2005? No idea. I don’t understand these new computer games. Look, I couldn’t even get past the tower in Myst… I am not like my son, I am not a hardcore gamer. I am a wanna-be gamer. My experience is limited to Spider Solitaire, Space Invaders, Pong, Ms. Pac-man and, well… the original Sim-City. My son is bringing his laptop at Christmas, I am hoping he will show me the finer points of, erm, Earthworm Jim… or the like…

So, I figure I will give this Commodore A1200 (circa January 1993, but it’s still new, in the original box, never used) I just received to my eldest daughter (who is seven) and let her figure out C/C++… I have a tutorial… she needs a challenge. She will probably tell me it needs COBAL. Or an upgrade.

(Please don’t laugh at me; I really do have no idea about these things. I know lots of words, though…)

Anyway, what this nice technician at the Pontivy Médiathèque has done is to hook up my laptop to the Pontivy Library’s LAN or Local Area Network. This means I can go into the library with my laptop and just dive into the network using their connection. Faster than ADSL, let me tell you. THEN, because it is so crowded in the computer suite and I have had to share his desk with my laptop, he took me upstairs to a private room and has set up a connection up there for me, my own private computer space! AND even though the computer suite is closed for three weeks for his vacances, I can STILL go up into my little private room and use their LAN as he OK’ed it with the other Librarians! Isn’t that cool?

The fact that I do not have to sit in a room with slew of hot, sweaty, adolescent boys who have yet to discover the bird-pulling benefits of personal hygiene, is an even greater benefit to my delicate olfactory sense. Why is it that most French men just plain stink? A mixture of body odour, garlic, Gauloises, old sweat and jeans that should have been washed two days ago. And their socks that smell of Limburger cheese. It’s just vile.

Please understand I have nothing against sweat. Sweat that forms on a clean body is full of natural pheromones and contains chemical transmitters that either turn us on or turn us off. If you want to know if you are ideally suited to someone of the opposite sex, all you need do is sniff his or her (clean, freshly washed) armpit. If it makes you go ‘yuck’, then this person is not for you, the ‘chemistry’ isn’t there.

On the other hand, if the person’s armpit smells oddly pleasant or makes you go all wobbly and weak in the knees, Bingo! Honest, it works. The brain is looking for matches for certain transmitters and is subconsciously looking for ‘missing links’ it can fill in, in its genetic code. So, when you mate, you have a better offspring. When you find the right person, you will never be able to get enough of that person’s natural, unvarnished scent. You will crave it as it’s heady and frightfully, mind-blowingly sexy. Wow.

See, it’s all about sex, really, isn’t it?

(Honestly Kitty, how you can link from talking about computers to sex is beyond belief...)