By DAVE BARRY
A few years back, when my son was in college, he had to mail a letter. I don’t remember the specific reason, but I do remember having a conversation with him in which he complained bitterly about the amount of work involved — finding a place where he could purchase a stamp, figuring out what kind of stamp he needed, actually writing the letter, locating an envelope, putting the letter into the envelope, having to physically leave his dormitory room to mail the envelope and so on. I grew exhausted just listening to him describe this series of arduous tasks, one coming right after another. I was glad, for my son’s sake, that he never had to live in a world — as I once did — where the only way to change channels was to walk all the way to the TV set and manually turn a knob.
In my case, this is more closely descriptive of me than of my son. Exhausting.
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