"X"

“I X it.”
“What do you mean you X it?”
“You know, I X it.
“Actually I don’t know what you mean by X it. Do you mean you—exit?
“No, I mean I X it.
Sigh. “If I’m going to help you, you’ll need to tell me exactly what you mean by—X it.”
“Okay, this is what I always do—I bring the curser up to the top of my computer screen and move it way over to the right hand side, and then I X it.”
“Oh, so you click on the X, correct?”
“Yeah!”
“Therefore you close the file.”
“That’s what I said, I X it.”
“But if you close the file, he wouldn’t have access to the program. Hmm.”
“Hmm, maybe—I don’t X it?”
“Instead of the X, could you have clicked on the little box or, more likely, the minus sign?”
“I think it might have been that minus sign, yeah—not the X.”
“Did it seem like the page kind of, shrank away once you clicked it?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
The eureka moment. “You minimized the program; it’s still open, although once you shut off your computer he should not have been able to get in.”
Silence.
“You do shut off your computer, don’t you?”
“Not always.”
Deeper sigh. “Well, there you go, that’s how your little brother accessed your Facebook. He saw the program on the bottom of your computer screen and just opened it.”
Tears. “He sent awful messages to all my friends and they thought it was me sending them. What should I do?”
“Call all your friends and tell them what happened and next time—.”
“I know, X it!”