Today’s post is a cautionary tale for boomers buying a laptop.

While churning out my initial Just TypiKel posts in 2013, I enjoyed working on my iMac in the chilly basement. However, by 2015 I’d become quite envious of other bloggers’ ability to write from anywhere. At the beach, on the plane, in the bar. I yearned for some of that freedom.

My two were most supportive.

“Okay, Mom, time to get a laptop. You deserve it.”

My visit to the local Apple store went something like this:

“What will the laptop be used for?”

“I’m writing a book.”

“Will you be watching many movies or gaming?”

“Oh, no. I’m writing a book.”

After much discussion, I settled on a MacBook 12-in.

Look at me. I’m upstairs! And yes, this is quite the old photo. The readers have been replaced by three different pairs of progressives since then.

One of our first trips together included a stay at the 1880 lighthouse keeper’s house in Hansville, Washington. I felt confident and “with it.”

Over the past nine years, the MacBook has survived endless streaming, a four foot fall from the top of a bookcase and an 82,000 word manuscript. And she’s only been in for service once. To replace her battery.

But then, last winter she developed a reluctance to wake up on cold mornings. Not good. I wrapped her in a cosy yoga blanket and lovingly tucked her in for the night in my armchair. It was the perfect solution until last week when she began to act up again.

My two were most supportive.

“Okay, Mom, time to get a new laptop. You deserve it.”

My son and I popped into the local Apple store and I confidently announced I’d like to look at the MacBook Air 15-in.

Why the 15-in? My eyes aren’t what they were in 2015. I could use a bigger screen.

As I settled in that night to watch the first two episodes of The Single Father on BritBox, I knew I’d chosen well. The picture and sound quality were superb.

A Cautionary Tale for Boomers Buying A Laptop

However, things were very different in the morning.

The screen had mushroomed overnight into a stadium jumbotron. The resulting glare was more blinding than a string of high beams approaching on a dark country road. As a disconcerting pressure blossomed behind my eyes, I focussed on the mountains outside. Better. I braved the luminescence again only to be overwhelmed with a wave of nausea. Come on, Kelly. Get a grip.

As I clicked on a news article, I could barely read the text.

It was too small.

I HAD TO ENLARGE THE FONT.

And I still felt ill. No, no, no. Oh God. I was turning into my mother. Readers of Never, Never, Hardly Ever will recall Francine’s reaction to her first computer lesson. It was eerily similar.

What to do? Keep the jumbotron and possibly acquire snow blindness or return it for a smaller model? If I swapped, would they honor yesterday’s price reduction? Or should I simply return it and limp along with my trusty MacBook? No, it’s nine years old. That’s tempting fate. I’ve got deadlines. I can’t write 750 words on my phone.

“I’d like to swap out my 15-in for a 13-in, please.”

After patiently listening, the Apple employee assured me I qualified for the price reduction. We exchanged smiles as she began to open the 15-in box, but then her face froze.

“There’s no charging cord or plug. Where are they?”

Languishing at home on my dining room table; smooth move, Kel.

She summoned a manager. Appearing no older than 20, he stared at me in disbelief.

“Well, as they’re the same, I suppose Apple could keep the ones belonging to this 13-in.”

Excellent. Time to wipe clean my former 15-in.

“What’s your apple ID, Ma’am?”

My what?

The youthful manager began speaking as if I was deaf.

“Just create a new ID now. Don’t forget it or you’ll need to create another.”

Okay, being of an age where I photograph underground parking stall numbers to ensure swift returns to my car, I asked for a pencil and paper.

A what and a what? The gal agreed to hunt down the elusive dinosaur items. I’d be giving her a five star review.

The manager and I passed a few minutes of awkward silence before he pointed out an elderly gentleman sitting at a nearby table.

“He’s taking the MacBook introductory course. You should sign up!”

And did I respond by suggesting he sign up for an introductory cursive course? No, of course not. But I was sorely tempted.