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it out on anyone within eyesight. I was thinking about finding a new job with a chef whose tirades I hadn’t already heard a million times before. So whenever I had a day off, I was pounding the virtual pavement, searching online for work. Well, one day my computer froze. It just froze. I have no idea why. It was working fine one minute, and then next it was locked. I tried the usual emergency procedures: turning it off and on, hitting it with the palm of my hand, swearing—nothing was working. Taking a computer in for repair is usually pretty costly, and they want to hang onto it forever, so I thought I’d try Craigslist for some cheap emergency help. Elliot’s ad said he had ten years experience, and he guaranteed his work. His price was within my budget, so I contacted him.
    Now, I’m not an idiot. I didn’t invite some stranger I found on Craigslist into my home, even if he was posting under the computer services section. I met him at a café that was a good ten blocks from my condo. I have to admit, I initially found his appearance alarming. He defined the word unkempt , but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at his job—maybe just not good at presenting himself professionally.
    I’m cautious when it comes to letting men fix something that’s mine. I’ve learned the hard way that you have to be careful whenever a guy is going to help you with anything because a lot of the time he will have no idea what he’s doing, even if he extends himself as an expert. There’s a good chance he’ll mess up whatever the problem is even more. Or he’ll just lecture you on what he assumes you did wrong, which may or may not be related to the actual problem. He’ll, of course, be convinced he’s helping even if he’s not. With that in mind, I still really wanted my laptop fixed, and Elliot did claim to have a degree in computer science, so I went for it.
    Amazingly, Elliot actually helped. He was forty minutes late, but he actually helped. Not only did he get my computer unfrozen, but he even cleaned it up a bit so that it ran a little faster. That lasted for about forty-eight hours; then it froze again. He did say in his ad that he guaranteed his work, so it was back to the café on my next day off. Again he showed up late; again he fixed my computer; again it froze a few days later. By that point, I was getting pretty irritated. On the third time we met up, he asked me out, confessing that he wanted to keep seeing me, so he kept not quite getting the job done. I couldn’t tell if I was flattered or annoyed. I wasn’t exactly physically attracted to him, but he seemed pleasant, and I hadn’t had a date in a few months, so I agreed. Besides the rampant tardiness, the first half dozen dates were pretty fun. Although I did eventually have to take my laptop in for repair because he could never be bothered to look at it after that.
    Elliot inserts himself between Aziz and me. He slams an Elizabeth's Conspiracy gift basket on the bar. Yes, it's one of those stinky toiletry gift baskets with peppermint foot lotion and lavender bath powder that retailers really push during the holidays.
    Without so much as a greeting, Elliot bursts out with, “ What the hell? Can't I leave my girlfriend alone for two minutes without some dude hitting on her?”
    Aziz tries to restrain himself but can’t stop from murmuring, “ Try two hours.”
    It’s probably not healthy that I constantly feel embarrassed by my boyfriend. I mean, when we’re alone together, it can be nice, and we’ve had some good times just goofing around, but in public I find myself frequently wanting to crawl under a rock to conceal the fact that I’m with him.
    The two men are giving each other the stink-eye, so I figure I’d better do the introductions. “Elliot, have you met Aziz? He's the sommelier at Bouche. Aziz, this is my boyfriend, Elliot.”
    “How do you do? It’s nice to meet you.” Aziz extends his hand.
    “Yeah, hey.” Elliot reluctantly