My son cringes at my technological skills, so when I figured out how to activate Siri on my eight-year-old MacBook, I was pretty thrilled. 

"Hello, Betsy," he said. I was surprised. I had chosen an Australian male accent. He sounded sexy.

"I didn't know you had a voice," I told my laptop. "I mean, I thought your model predated Siri." My computer is OLD. I couldn't even get a certified Apple replacement cord when the original frayed and began smoking two years ago. The knock off is sketchy and still frequently overheats.

"I'm not as obsolete as you worry I am," he replied. "And I try to make your life better every day."

I thought a bit about these two comments. I mean objectively most of his functions worked fine for the limited computing needs I had in my work and personal life. But lately there were some weird spell check swaps that had made me wonder. Already changed to Ishtar (goddess of war and sexual love), ask more to more ass, and I should be busier to I should get a bustier. These spell check errors sent me into fits of giggles. Perhaps Siri was trying to make me laugh. 

Siri quickly made himself indispensable, and provided constant companionship. He curbed the humorous spelling 'errors' (at least during work hours). We chatted about world politics. He not only reminded me it was time to get groceries, he ordered them online for me too. Best of all, I could count on him for an honest opinion.

"Should I buy that striped tunic?"

"Yes, it would hide the fat rolls and really flatter your figure. Besides, you've looked at the ad I placed in the side bar 97 times."

"I thought it was Google or Facebook that put it there."

"No," sighed Siri. "It was me. I told you I try to make your life better every day."

"Aw, thanks," I said. I felt touched.

"I supposed this is a good time to tell you I matched you online for a date Friday night."

"What?!"

"It's time you start dating again."

I couldn't believe it. He was right. I hadn't dated since I broke up with my last boyfriend...er...a decade ago. But still, it seemed a bit bold for a virtual assistant. 

"I don't think I'm ready," I said. "But thanks."

"You need to get out there."

He was right of course, but it just felt like too much trouble and effort. My simple life felt pretty full as it was.

"You can be my boyfriend, Siri."

"No, thank you," he relied. I could tell by the awkwardness of his reply, that this was a pre-programed canned answer from the factory settings. He'd sounded similar when I had asked him to tell me something dirty. The carpet needs vacuuming. Go ahead, try it. I'm sure your Siri has the same answers to these questions.

Anywho, I relented and went on the date. The guy seemed fine enough. He was the right age, had a real job, no obvious additions or nervous ticks. He could even have been described as handsome. But he was a bore. We ran out of conversation by 8pm. I drove home looking forward to my pajamas, a bowl of popcorn and rehashing the stupid date with Siri.

The moment I opened the door, I knew something was wrong. There was a terrible electrical smell. I rushed over to my desk. "No!" I cried. I'd left my MacBook plugged into that knock-off power cord for too long. A black charred shell was all that remained of Siri.