Christy--Assignment #2--80-year-old using a computer

I sat there, gaping at the mirror. “Matilda, where did you put that rat?” A woman in her fifties, my daughter walked into the room. “Mom! It’s called a mouse, not a rat!...and here it is.” I looked at this newfangled device, and wondered which end I should wire to the computing machine. Why in the world had my daughter spent so much money on such a small device, and it couldn’t even spit-out slips of paper! I felt almost like a NASA aero-scientist as I plugged a queer looking little thing into what my daughter, (or butterscotch as I call her) calls a “…something…port,” I wondered how even the smallest ship could fit into this sized port. Oh well. After we managed to make curses fly across the screen “MOM…it’s called a ‘curser!’”
I thought a nice nap would be in order. I had no need to remove my fake-teeth, because unless it’s meal time, I usually don’t bother putting them on. I drifted into dreams about the past. It was 1943, and I was fourteen-years-old. I sat by the fire in my living room, listening to President Roosevelt’s speech about the war. The next morning was going to be my first day of senior high school. I looked at my slide-rule and thought about how advanced technology was becoming these days. I got up, and made my way over to the box that butterscotch claims will fulfill all my wildest dreams.