I love the beauty and intelligent design of my Mac — the elegance of pearly white encased in thick, clear plastic; the low silver sheen of the monitor’s wide foot; the transparent case that surrounds the wireless keyboard. So uncomplicated. So simple. So sleek.
Uh…so it would have been nice to know that my passion for understated elegance and ease of function could be so summarily doused.
How could I have known that my senses would soon be assailed by unwanted images of the RT’s afternoon snacks, stuck in my one place of design nirvana (since I can’t afford one of those Kohler vanishing edge tubs)?
Shaking it doesn’t work. The crumbs. Are. Stuck. In much the way that dog turds do to your Cole-Hahns after you’ve stepped in a fresh pile.
I don’t want to have to take the screws off the back of the keyboard. Nor do I feel I should have to purchase one of those little vacuum cleaners, or a can of that sprayable air. Or one of those little duster thingys that can be inserted between the keys. I want a clean keyboard.
One that only I can touch.
One that will not collect the detritus of my son’s frozen burritos and Hot Pockets, leaving it encased like a museum exhibit metaphorically illustrating the effect of teenagers on the hope of a simple existence.
Or something like that…