because "Roger" from India says so

So, the day before yesterday, my router dies a slow and painful death. Not too traumatic in the grand scheme of things, but irritating and extraordinarily inconvenient nonetheless.

After merely waiting for my wireless connection to somehow magically re-emerge (you know, as magically as it departed - is that so much to ask?), turning all of the household computers off and then back on again, unplugging and replugging all of the various and sundry cords, all to no avail, I make that dreaded call to India to attempt to explain the situation to tech support. I render a serial number and I am put on hold.

And I hold.

And I hold.

And I hold.

I check in with Damion who, in addition to his starring roles as K's dad and quirky friend/ex-husband, is something of an emergency tech support hotline, and explain to him that I have gotten nowhere. Soon, though, he departs his paying job, dons his shining armor, and gallops over.

Then Damion is on the phone with "Roger," also in India, who is instructing him to plug and unplug, but in a different order than the previous pluggings and unpluggings and this time we wait for one minute before replugging, rather than a mere ten seconds.

When "Roger" has exhausted all of his possibilities and his script has no more pages, he informs Damion that my router must be mailed off to Memphis, Tennessee, for repair and that I will be sent an operable one in exchange. I am now sans router for the duration of time it takes for said dead router to travel east and its understudy to travel west.

I am thankful that I need not send my router to India for "Roger" to inspect personally. I am also thankful for the computer-savvy extraordinaire and readily available Damion, who was paid in microbeer and overly dry bar-b-que ribs for his efforts.

This morning in yoga we worked on a "headless headstand" -- this expression never fails to amuse me.