My mother was worried about hackers.
“But mum, it’s perfectly safe,” I told her, tapping my head although she couldn’t see that down the phone line. “And think of all the things it’ll be useful for. You’re always complaining that I don’t phone home enough or that you can’t get hold of me. Well now you won’t need to get me on a landline or mobile, you can contact me direct to my head.”
My new brain was useful for other things too. Now I had Microsoft Word to record my thoughts in and Excel to organise money on I don’t know how I used to get by with my normal organic brain. Then there was the internet on tap, itunes for all my music and solitaire for when I couldn’t get to sleep.
Dr Bumph had explained to me about security. He said that there was no way that anyone could possibly hack into my brain, it was a physical impossibility. He had done the surgery himself and no one else in the world knew how to get in my head – no one could access the personal information in my head or influence my thoughts.
My mother remained unonvinced.
“Mum, trust me it’s perfectly safe,” I said again. “It’ll be fine and – BEEP – oh hang on a sec.” The beep was a reminder I had set myself – 8pm date with nigel – I had better get ready. I told my mum that I had to go, hung up and went to beautify mself for Nigel.
Nigel wasn’t my usual type. My last boyfriend had been a swimwear model – all toned limbs and chiselled features, a nice guy too but looking back now I don’t know what I ever saw in him. Certainly not now that I had Nigel. I thought of the mismatched features of his face, his straggly hair and bad skin and wondered how anyone could not find him attractive. My friends did not agree – they all thought I could do much better. Nigel said they were probably just jealous.
We met just outside the restaurant and he greeted me with a firm slap to my backside and then stared at my chest with a grin across his face. He really was beautiful and I lost myself in a momentary daydream. I enjoyed dinner, watching him ravish his steak, juice running down his uneven chin whilst I ate a salad, having been told not to pick anything too expensive. We talked about him mostly which was fine by me, I just loved being in his presence.
Towards the end of the evening I brought up my mother’s worries about hackers.
“She thinks someone will be able to get in and, I dunno, find out things about me or change the way I think. She doesn‘t understand. But it‘s ok, I told her what you said about it Doctor.”
“Please, please, don’t call me doctor. I’m Nigel to you now, not your doctor. And don’t worry, no one can get into your brain. And change the way you think? Impossible.”