In my quest for writing a novel based on as much fact as I can, I have entered the world of rootkits and deep packet sniffing.
The IT department at work have generously been educating me.
Yes, like you, I was all, rootkits and packet sniffing? Surely you are only talking about obscure computer hacking terms? I was like that. I was. But then I giggled. Australian's are incapable of not giggling when the word root is mentioned, its a cultural thing. Giggling about the word rooting that is. Not the actual rooting - that's pretty much worldwide as far as I can tell. Anyway, I giggled, and then I blushed scarlet.
Now I have lost what little dignity I had and in front of the grinning IT department. Apparently it gives one a sense of achievement to make a romance novelist blush.
Though, I should confess that its not hard to make me blush. I seem to have been hardwired to do it on command. During my school years on the bus I was TORTURED by snotty little boys (who might now be lawyers and barristers and financial advisers on telly, BUT I REMEMBER YOU WHEN YOU ONLY WASHED ONCE A WEEK IF THAT).
"Don't go red," they'd all chorus at me. I obligingly went red, mostly due to the attention I'd garnered.
Of course then I grew boobs.
Nobody noticed the colour of my face for years after that.