What Lipitor Can't Fix

I'm in a battle with my laptop....or more accurately, with the amount of memory on my laptop. We've had skirmishes for years...but then cooler heads (or really, just one...that of my husband) would step in to mediate. I would begrudgingly agree to move all of my pictures and most of my music to an external hard drive, even though that presents a colossal inconvenience to me (more often than not I do use my laptop as DJ Mixmaster in hotel showers and as a digital picture frame when being all crafty and inspired). But hey, what's a little sacrifice when the end result is peace and unity? I want to join hands with my laptop and sing Christmas carols...I want to laugh together over truly funny forwarded emails (I have almost trained everyone in my circle to stop sending me crap like "pass this on to your closest 400 friends or your cat will be hit by a semi in exactly 26 minutes")...I want to have, dare I say, a relationship with my laptop that does not involve curse words or showing it who's Number 1 while it flashes me error messages. Why can't we just get along? I would expect more respect from such a mature machine. I could very easily put it down and replace it with a faster, less Microsoft-y version (yes, Apple...your commercials are finally wearing me down. They make me giggle with understanding while the PC commercials just make me feel like a loser for not being able to create a professional-quality photo book in 20 minutes...especially when the girl says "I'm 4 and I'm a PC"). I could have a laptop that springs alive at the touch of a button, just waiting for instruction. But instead, I am patient with your flipping hour-glass, the crawl at which you update...for I know you're old and need more time. And generally, I become nostalgic for all things antique..I crave Tony Bennett and everyday hats on women. I get misty-eyed when I see an avocado-colored fridge or an airstream camper. But seeing an ancient item and relying on it are 2 totally different things. I would not try to make a phone call from a cell phone in a brief case, nor would I expect to get very far in a Pinto. So, at some point, Captain Compaq and I will have to part ways. But if we could just cling to each other in an "I'll never let go, Jack" embrace until some money starts rolling in, I would be grateful. Otherwise, I will have to revert to - gasp - a desktop which will revoke my membership to the Cool Girls' Club and make it generally much more difficult to work from my bed.