you can't get rid of family, is why

When my story begins, it is 10 in the morning. I am blissfully asleep, with Buster snugged into the space between my neck and my shoulder. It's warm and cozy and comfy and happy and I am asleep so I'm not fretting about having therapy in five hours. My mom comes bursting in.

She: "COLBY'S ON THE PHONE."
Me: "Nghg tellim m'asleep."
She: "She's asleep. Oh. INDI HE SAYS IT'S AN EMERGENCY."
Me: "Nkaygifone."

She does so and I get aurally slammed by a gay man in full-bore panic.

Colby: "I'M TRYING TO REFINANCE MY CAR AND THEY SAID I COULD FAX THESE PAPERS IN OR EMAIL THEM AS PEE DEE EFF THAT'S PAPA DELTA FOXTROT AND I SCANNED THEM ON JOEY'S COMPUTER AND JOEY IS SO FUCKING USELESS HE HAS THIS THING AS A TOY FOR HIS DRAWING AND HIS COMPUTER GAMES NOT ANYTHING USEFUL FUCK ME I SWEAR TO GOD..."
Me: "Gwuh? Yer on Joey's c'puter?"
He: "YES AND GODDAMNIT MY BOYFRIEND IS FIVE YEARS OLD..."
Me: "He's got Photoshop on there, I put it there. Can save 'em in Photoshop. I 'splain."

He does this, and it takes a while. Then...

He: "WHEN I DO THAT THEY OPEN IN NOTEPAD WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT DOING NOW..."
Me: *aw hell, code scares Colby* "You have Acrobat Reader on your computer, right?"
He: "YES BUT WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?"
Me: "He probably doesn't have it."
He: "THEN HOW CAN I MAKE A PEE DEE EFF ON HERE?"
Me: "Because Photoshop -- nevermind. Move the file to your computer. Look at it there."

Then there were 10 more minutes of cursing at Joey and looking for a floppy disk which fits only ONE pdf on it at a time and somehow that's poor Joey's fault too and he has, like, seven of these files he needs to do and somehow he winds up re-scanning them and meanwhile I'm getting out of bed and going to the bathroom and making my coffee and drinking my coffee and petting the dogs and giving in to my morning itchies and their morning itchies too and he's still going. Thirty-five minutes later he decides, screw this, I'll fax them at Kinko's. I think that Joey's printer can do faxes but since discretion is the better part of valor, I KEEP QUIET. He tells me gleefully he's off to the copy shop and we hang up with no mention made, nor apology given, for waking me up.

My mom comes in to ask what the problem was. At this point I'm vertical - mostly - and poking my email. I mutter, "Computer problems."

"I'm sorry to hear you're having them," she says, "but what was Colby's emergency?"