...my emergencies...

Anyone who's been a teacher for any lenght of time understands the truism of that old bumpersticker/coffee cup - "Your problem does not count as an emergency for me." Well, it says something like that, but in a snappier wording. Daily, actually hourly, teachers hear excuses that are supposed to stop their world and whatever is happening in it. We grow callous and it rolls off of our backs like ducks and water. (Sorry for the silly metaphor.)

Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that my "emergency" generator is the DH. The man is an avowed technophobe and cannot even attach documents (or download them) to emails without constant step by step instructions. I know, I know both Anthypophora and Congolia are out there thinking the same thing about me, but when I remember to do it before I hit send, I can at least attach a file. Why does any of this matter?

It matters when on the one day a week I do not have to get up early, I get woken up by a constant barage of questions shouted across the house.
"How do I turn on your computer?"
"What is your password?" (It was the first clue that something was going wrong. My computer remembers my pass word.)
"My email's not here...maybe they (???) changed your password."
"I need these documents printed before I leave for the 8am class." (Not really, he just hasn't been to class and wants to demonstrate that he is doing something.)
And my favorite thing at the end of it all..."You didn't have to get up."
Really. I didn't have to get up.

This is after I spent an hour at 10:00pm last night explaining to him that he couldn't open docx documents with his Window 2003 account and he kept repeating, "But where's the Chlamydia (read docx) document?"
Don't worry, none of us have STDs. The DH is doing an intership at the health department. Part of his current work is to translate STD fact sheets. Actually, the internship has been good. I'm pretty sure that after watching genital warts get burned off of people he will never cheat on me. Apparently it looks pretty gross and painful. Grown men cry.