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It was the second computer mouse in the same week.  Wiggle it around.  And nothing.

See the arrow.  Can’t move the arrow.

And so yesterday when the thing froze completely, I pointed to the mouse like it was naughty, closed the door and let my husband have at it.

Which he did.

When he walked out some twenty minutes later after unplugging, replugging, fiddling and saying nice things to the wires, his face was flushed.  In a weird way.  Like something had happened.

Our daughter sat at the table and smiled.

And my husband remembered.  Remembered an innocent question asked two hours earlier:  “Have you used the computer yet, dad?”

“No, why?”

“No reason.” she’d said.  “I was just wondering.”

He relayed the conversation.  The one that seemed to make sense now.

She kept smiling.

“And then,” he said.  “After messing with a mouse that lights up and still doesn’t work, I looked at the bottom of the thing and pulled this sticky note off of the sensor.”  He flicked the paper to the counter.

Our daughter bounced from her chair with her hands above her head.  “April Fool’s, Dad!”

And my husband shook his head.  Shook it in concession.  Shook it in a way that said, “this stuff doesn’t usually happen to me.”

Hee hee.

Oh…but it did.


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