Paging the IT girl

Most of the time, I'm a political reporter. Then there are the days I double as an IT person for people who are even more clueless than I am about computers. It makes me feel like a goddess.
The other day, a coworker not yet on Twitter decided Friday was the day. He was joining Twitter. He set aside several hours for what he just knew would be a long, involved installation process. Then he asked me for help. He was up and running within five minutes. It's not that I know all the shortcuts. It's just a really simple process.
My husband excels at breaking his computer. Really, his employer shouldn't give him a computer. He's better off with a notepad and pencil. The world is better off with him just having a notepad and pencil. I'm better off with him just having a notepad and pencil - especially when I'm slouched in my red chair, watching "The Real Housewives" reunion, sipping a glass of chilled white wine and I hear the plaintive plea from the other room. "Um, can you come here for a minute?" It's never a minute. Never, ever, ever.
One night I went into the home office. He was seated at his computer with that stricken look on his face. Somehow, he'd hit something that popped up a window at the bottom of his emails. He wanted to know how to fix it. Here's my approach to IT problems: I hover my mouse over things and click until I stumble across the fix. My husband wants me to TELL him how to fix things so he'll LEARN. "Just tell me," he always says in an exasperated tone. No matter how often I tell him I'm uncertain how to fix it without a little exploratory clicking, he doesn't believe me.
Luckily, though, this was a problem I'd encountered before on my husband's computer (although what he's hitting still escapes me) so I could tell him to click the "X" at the top righthand corner of the offending box. As I've told him at least a million times before. He summons that box like Aladdin summons a genie. He just can't remember how to get the genie back in the bottle.
Mr. G. used to call the IT department at his workplace when he encountered problems. Then they got caller ID and stopped taking his calls. He's asked if he can call the IT department at my workplace. I refuse to hand over the number so they'll continue to answer my calls.
I don't really blame IT for ignoring my husband's calls. I overheard one of those phone calls.
Mr. G. : "Um, yeah, I've got a box on my screen. How do I get rid of it?"
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "It's a box."
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "What's in it? I don't know. It's a box. Just TELL me how to get rid of it."
PAUSE
Mr. G.: "I'm looking (for one whole second). I don't see an 'x'"
LONG PAUSE
Mr. G. "I. Just. Want. To. Get. Rid. Of. The. Box."
So it's all on my shoulders. It's a big job. I'm convinced that Mr. G. could innocently set off North Korea's nuclear weapons simply by pushing a few buttons on his computer. Then he'll ask me to TELL him how to fix it so he'll LEARN.
The other day, I came home to the news that we're taking a work trip. My husband has to go to a conference, and I get to tag along. As I was working out in my head the logistics of working Bailey into the trip (can't leave Boo-Boo at home!) and sorting through possible sightseeing excursions, I heard my husband say, "This will be great. You'll be right there if I have any computer problems."