The other night I came home from work to find my son in the kitchen with a towel and the sponge in his hand. Never a good sign. He told me he had spilled juice on the desk where my computer sits. Knowing how inept he is at cleaning up properly, and also knowing how much I hate the least bit of anything sticky, I went up with the sponge and a wet paper towel.
The desk wasn't too bad but my thesaurus had an icky sticky spot on the back and there were still little droplets of red juice hanging in between the keys. I unplugged it and brought it down to rinse off in the sink.
Next day I'm trying to write and find the space bar sticking. It works, but it's like there's a cushion (of icky sticky juice maybe?) sitting beneath it so that I have to punch it hard to make it work. My words are all running together. I have to go back a million times and ram a space between them. I'm getting annoyed.
So I go downstairs with the keyboard - again - and use the sprayer, aiming it directly at the space bar while good naturedly berating my son for his clumsiness and advising him that if this doesn't work he may have to buy me a new key board.
He says, "You don't really need the space bar, do you?"