Escape

Posted on 25 Apr 2007 at 15:05

 

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Caramel is having second thoughts about her technical abilities and wonders if her hormones are to blame.

The exciting news in the gadget girl household is that I'm twice the woman I used to be. Well, maybe just 50% bigger, but I'm expanding rapidly because there is a gadget baby on the way. In true technophile style, an army of lab-coated boffins with test tubes were involved in the process. I couldn't possibly make a baby the old-fashioned - nay, Luddite - way now could I?

Half-way gone at the time of writing, I already feel that I'm letting the side down. I've reviewed consumer electronics for a good 13 years now without my double X chromosomes getting in the way one little bit, but now I'm suddenly struggling. And I don't just mean the fact that my bump prevents me from unpacking a dozen 37in LCD televisions for testing. My raging hormones mean suddenly I'm buggered if I can figure out how to plug them in.

All of those 13 years, I've argued long and hard, in a male-dominated industry, that women don't need their technology dumbing down or painting pink. That there are plenty of tech-savvy women who want fully-featured gadgets just as much as the next man. And that for every woman who would prefer their technology to be a bit simpler, there's a man who wants just the same.

Now I find myself conceding that gender can affect one's gadget capabilities. Well, I still think it doesn't most of the time, but it can do when you're 'heavy with child' as my friend Bob quaintly describes it (and trust me, it's quite an accurate description in my case).

Knowing what I know now, I take back every quote I've given about men and women being identical as technology consumers. Of course we are equals, but I can see now that we're fundamentally different, and in the last four and a half months, I have lost all dignity when it comes to mastering (or should that be mistressing) technology.

Spatial awareness went out of the window first. Driving down narrow roads they suddenly became obstacle courses, like when I was 17 and entrusted with my dad's motor but precious little road sense. And parking was impossible. My memory was shot to hell too, but on the bright side at least I didn't have to remember where I'd parked the car... it was always the one parked two foot from the kerb.

My gadget prowess is also fast becoming a distant memory. I am now precisely the kind of woman that I previously swore doesn't exist: the one that needs her technology taming, because all my gadgets have started ganging up on me. I swear I'm using them in the same way I always have done. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

As I've never liked sat nav systems much, it pained me when my lack of spatial awareness skills meant that I had to grudgingly use one. This was a big mistake. I soon discovered that when you have a teary argument with a GPS, it remains just as starchy and dictatorial as ever. Unlike real, flesh and blood navigators, it won't pass me a Kleenex, or realise that my blood sugar has plummeted and force-feed me chocolate biscuits until I become human again. And when I confuse left and right, it just recalculates the route and resumes barking instructions at me, rather than making light of it and reminding me of my deep breathing exercises.

To be honest, it's a miracle that the GPS is still in one piece after the fights we've had. Which is more than can be said for my mobile phone. I swear I haven't dropped it, yet it has developed a large crack across the glass front. It also crashes randomly on a daily basis, invariably at the precise second that an important text message arrives. I honestly did nothing to cause the breakdowns. All those hormones must be rubbing off on my mobile and it's cracking under the pressure. I know how it feels.