Man with the Midas touch

I knew he had returned as soon as I turned on the computer. The program call-up menu was replaced. I tried three times to call-up the word processing program. Nothing happened.
I went to “DOS-shell” to retrieve it only to be told I had made a major mistake.
As my frustration level rose, my husband wandered by, “How do I get the word processor?”
“Did it again, huh?” He keyed in a couple of commands, “there it is.”
Muttering to myself about people messing with things so I can’t access a simple program, I sat down.
It’s become a ritual. Our family computer whiz pulls in late at night for a short visit. After a perfunctory hello hug, he huddles up to our computer for the rest of the night.
By morning, he has entered areas of the computer forbidden to commoners, crashed the system, reloaded everything, written a new program menu and collapsed onto the couch as the light of dawn begins to glare of the computer screen.
While he sleeps, the rest of us talk in hushed tones as we try to find favorite computer games and programs. We don’t complain. He pays for the privilege of messing up our computer by fixing or installing programs and peripherals that sat unused for months.
While he sleeps we compile a list of computer problems to be humbly brought to his magical touch.
This time we asked if he could: Fix the CD-ROM that was only partially installed six months ago, get the color printer to use more than one color, figure out why the computer does not like the newspaper printing program and oh, yes, please make a user friendly program menu.
He nodded, swing around to the keyboard, poked and prodded a few keys before declaring “the reason you can’t use your new color printer is the you need another program to initialize the color program.
He tried unsuccessfully to siphon that information from his brother’s computer. If we purchase an upgrade, he’ll install it during his next visit.
Next, he tackled the CD-ROM that refused to release sounds stored on the computerized CD’s. After sending back a unit, talking with the manufacturer and trying their suggestions in vain, it had waited for his visit.
He read the manual, twiddled his fingers over the keyboard and said, “It works, but to pay regular CD’s you have to buy another program.” He’ll install it next time, too.
Then he tickled the computer keyboard for a while, went to the inner chambers forbidden to us commoners and emerged with a working program for publishing, snapped out a more user friendly entry menu and our list of repairs was complete.
With his final mission completed, he strutted through the house like a quarterback who has made the impossible touchdown. “Yes! I am the master of the universe. I can solve all your problems.”
We all backed up a respectful distance, thanked him, and cautiously sat down to work in our corner of his universe, astounded that we had actually known the master of the universe before he knew how to solve all our problems.