I had a dream ...

My husband and I are having a standoff over the cooker. Not literally, obviously, because there is so much grease on that thing we’d both slide right off it. 

I told him the cooker was still not working and needed to be fixed. He asked me what did I want him to do about it?

Well, my darling, my soul, my light, my occasional bout of indigestion, here it is.

 

I want you to get a ridiculously overpaid job, say as a professional footballer where you get five million squillion dineros per minute to do something that has no tangible benefit to humanity so that every time something broke down, like the cooker or the toaster or the car I could just go and buy a new one. And then when the house got so messy that I couldn’t stand it anymore I could just move.

And then I could plug the cracks in my face with so much botox and filler that my child wouldn’t recognise me. And I could totter around in two storey high platform high heels and skinny jeans until I am one hundred and three carrying a handbag over my arm which was large enough to contain all my earthly possessions but which actually contained a small beaver (dogs are so last year) whose intestines had been removed so that it did not shit in my handbag.

Am I asking too much? I don’t think so.

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Killing me (not so softly) ...

My kitchen appliances have entered into a suicide pact.

First, the toaster went on a starvation diet and refused to ingest anything. It was only a very young toaster, so I’m thinking possibly it was anorexic.

Now the oven is experiencing a slow prolonged and, for me, an extremely painful passing away, as the last bit of heat dissipates from its cranky old body.

They say troubles come in threes, so I’m expecting to wake up one morning and find the vacuum cleaner hanging from the ceiling, with a note beside it saying “I’m sorry, I couldn’t take the mess anymore”. And who could blame it?

No, the appliances are not to blame. The blame must be placed firmly where it lies.

With my sister.

My sister visited for two weeks and during that time she had the audacity to clean up after herself every day. Imagine! The nerve of that woman!

She thought that she was “helping”, but what she was actually doing was deluding my poor appliances into believing that living in a clean house was a real possibility for them.

It was not. It never was. It was always a pipe dream that could never come true. And now my appliances cannot face life knowing that it will never be as beautiful or as clean as it once was. Occasionally I hear sobbing emanating from the kitchen.

Honestly sis, why’d you have to go and put stars in their eyes?

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