Help! My Computer Hates Me And I Really Don’t Want To Have To Kill My Husband In His Sleep

Image by jacob earl via Flickr

Here we go again.  WordPress or somebody asked how I’d like to be remembered.  As a computer genius; but it’s never gonna happen, is it?

My techneptitude has flared up again.  Do you any of you real computer genii know how to fix my problem?  Preferably before the Hub gets up and has a little whinge about it.  You remember that post the other day where you all urged me to hang onto him because of his un-man-like ability to change a toilet roll?  Here’s why I might not: think of the loudest noise you know.  Double it.  Multiply by every prime number.  Take away the will to live.  And only then will you just begin to comprehend the Hub’s ability to sap the life out of a person who accidentally messed with his computer settings.

Here’s the problem: I was writing today’s sapoems post and I accidentally hit some or other buttons on the keyboard (I blame the Germans) and the bit at the top and bottom disappeared – the ribbon/banner thingy that says what’s up on your desktop.  I can get it back if I click on the top or bottom of the screen but it refuses to stay in place.  How do I fix it?  I tried going to some fixing website, thinking it was probably a common problem; but there’s no FAQ for ‘my ribbon/banner thingy won’t stay put.’ 

Please, people: if you don’t want me to have to murder the Hub in his bed rather than face a rollicking, take pity on me.

WordPress Prompts – The Blogging Equivalent Of Catholic Guilt

The WordPress prompt about things happening for a reason so enraged me that I haven’t responded to any prompts since. 

I think I’d better answer a few before I’m excommunicated from the postaday2011 family:

Do you want to live forever?

Don’t be ridiculous!  What would I do once the Maltesers ran out?

If stranded on a desert island, and could only bring one music album with you, which would it be? What is it about this music that never gets old for you?*

Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell.  I’m always fourteen when I listen to it.  Fourteen year olds don’t care where they are so long as they can play their music at full blast, all day long.

What is your favourite sound?

Someone else saying, Dinner is served.

How do you define the word friend?

Someone who, when you ask her to pick up the Maltesers, refuses to take payment for them when she arrives.

 

*All grammatical errors WordPress’s own.