I like to read in bed. But I have bad vision. I need to read on my iPad so I can make the print larger.
I like to play word games in bed. I can only do this on my iPad.
I like a lot of things I can do with my iPad in bed. But there’s a problem. It’s called my midriff. Apparently, what is left of the fat of my youth has settled in my midriff. The doctors say this is normal. It’s like the Florida of your body. It’s where the fat goes when it retires from your butt, legs, arms, face, etc.
Because of this, when I rest the iPad on my midriff to read, the fat hits the screen and the next thing you know I’m looking at Siri.
Honestly, I don’t know who that is. I didn’t even know I had her/him/it/they. But HHIT shows up every time I rest the iPad on my abdomen.
It’s the last bastion of fat in my body and it is determined to show me that it is still the boss. I don’t even know what to do with Siri. If I ask for a snack, HHIT never brings me one. And my fat laughs and jiggles like a bowl full of jelly watching me wait for it.
At least this final humiliation happens in the privacy of my bedroom. It’s not much, but it’s something… seriously, I want Siri out of my house. HHIT is useless to me but shows up every night whether I want it or not. Hmmm… I remember some boyfriends like that.