Recently, while ONE was trying to take a nap, I was told that, said “one,” could not catch some zzz’s because I was tapping away on my keyboard. Which, apparently, was in comparison to Fred Flinstone trying to make his stone car drive on the street. Hater. But, it got me to thinking… I want a stone car. Yabba Dabba Doo! Listen, I type 85 words per minute. Tap Tap. I know, I’m awesome. A secretarial genius. I hardly have time to monitor the decibel level of my finger pads hitting the keys. Robotic Voice Activated: Today’s tap sound level has exceeded the sound barrier today, please report to typewriter jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. I have a lot to say. It may be nonsense. It may not pertain to the importance of the human condition. And it may be hilariously entertaining… but, irregardless, it must be said. What must be said? I don’t know… something. Roll with it.
How dost one type too loudly anyway? In high school I took a class to learn how to type and I aced it, of course. Patting myself on the back and typing at the same time. And, I recall the sound of the keyboard keys being a moment of triumph as you sailed through a speed test with no errors. Nerd much? Yes, yes I am. Maybe, I should’ve considered the source. Accusational source? Caveman-Monkey hybrid. This neanderthal, whom I adore deeply, types with the grace of a monkey. And not the spider monkey kind either. More like a gorilla. One sad little letter of the alphabet at a time. Somehow, I get schmoozed into doing letterhead more often for people than I’d like. And for future reference, if you’d like to kill my typewriter taps while you snooze, then you may want to try bribery. Because when you’re tempted with a coconut iced donut… (the snacking is real people.) Tadaa! Face is stuffed. Cocunut flakes all over my eyebrows. I don’t’ know how it gets there either… I’m a savage donut eating beast.