So the ad woman said something like, "And your husband can even print remotely when he's sitting on the sofa eating popcorn, getting the cushions dirty." Well, I bought into that funny woman, who I suspected was a stand-up comedienne who'd never installed a printer in her life. How many hours has it been? About three, and I still haven't cracked open the owners' manual. I'm sure Satan himself wrote it or more likely someone who speaks another language. I'll figure out how to scan tomorrow. Am I nuts, or didn't printers find your computer and show up without you knowing the password on the bottom of the network router in days gone by? And could the manufacturers make the screen on the printer any smaller? It's about an inch and a half wide. How can anyone read print smaller than an ant? Oh yeah, I'm supposed to use my phone. That print's not big either. Then there's my cat who's fascinated by all the clicks amidst my expletives. She loves printers. They're warm and cozy. At least the newer ones have control buttons on the front where she can't decide to print out. Okay, I feel better now, and I'll work on the Banshee's Wail. OMG! What if my printer is possessed?