Computer vs. Man

Can you substitute a man with a computer? My quirky black computer has almost everything a boyfriend can offer. In some ways it’s even more helpful. Zoltar the Conqueror (that’s his name, he has a gender) auto corrects my work, sends my emails, helps me shop and organises my music. He plays games with me too. If I ask the boyfriend to play Scrabble or proofread my assignments the most frequent thing I hear is “Are you sure that’s a word?”

Although Zoltar can’t cook dinner or take out the rubbish, the boyfriend isn’t much good at it either. At least Zoltar won’t hover over my shoulder, point accusingly at yummy vegetable pasta and query, “Where’s the oil?”
“Oh you’re right, it’s as dry as the ocean isn’t it?” I reply. There’s another point. Zoltar would understand that in fact, the ocean is not dry at all, and he certainly wouldn’t try to argue his way out of this after he’d already agreed with it.

Most recently, I’ve found myself feeling sorrier for my computer when he’s injured than when the boyfriend staple guns a hole through his door. Probably due to the fact said boyfriend programmed the internet so all cookies, worms and general computer- destroying viruses were redirected to Zoltar from the nasty websites boyfriend and other male housemate were stalking.

Late on a Monday night when I’d just wiped Zoltar clean of offending viruses, a tiny grey box appeared saying, “You’re computer will shutdown in 30 seconds”. Poor Zoltar was being hacked; obviously by some horrible, greasy (male) nerd who’d been haunting one of the games sites my boyfriend had visited. “No!” I screeched. If Zoltar shutdown, it would be the end. No more assignments, games, music or TV. No more Zoltar. My boyfriend rushed into the room, opened up some internal programming prompt, typed an unintelligible command and the grey box disappeared. He smiled at me and walked away. Zoltar was resting peacefully on his desktop as if his existence had never been threatened.

You definitely can’t swap a man for a computer. Computers need to be fixed by the man, just like the mower and the toilet and the car. Now, I’m not discriminating against women and saying they can’t fix computers or toilets or cars. My mum is queen of DIY household repairs. But the boyfriend is better. And now he owes it to me for messing with my computer. On the weekend we went shopping; he bought me music and wine, and cooked pasta without oceans of oil.