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I just wanted to be a real adult, but it ended up like that Pleasure Island scene in Disney’s “Pinocchio” where our little, wooden, not-a-real-boy makes seemingly innocent, but morally delinquent, life choices and starts turning into a donkey.
This week, my computer asked me — yet again — if I wanted to download the most recent version of my system, and normally — by which I mean every time since the first personal computer arrived in my home — I hit cancel or no or whatever key necessary to get me out of this danger zone.
Or I find my tech-savvy husband, drag him to my com...
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