I shake it angrily, before giving it a bash.
This is not good news. Unfortunately, when I ordered the thing, I plumped for the cheapest one on the Internet, figuring that I wouldn’t really use it much. This was a bit like Dylan Thomas wandering into his local pub and ordering ‘just a half’. I am lost without it. I mourn by whimpering slightly and rocking from side to side, wondering what I am going to do. This is the worst possible scenario in my life.
The washing machine breaks.
I stare at it for a long period of time. I have a huge mountain of washing to do before the LTLP returns home, in the time that I would have spent on my laptop. This could be serious. I worry that it is somehow my fault, for not using the manufacturer’s recommended detergent.
I perform some diagnostics, by plugging it in to a different socket. It remains broken. It strikes me that this is going to cause some inconvenience, as I return my mountain of washing to the basket. I call the Washing Machine Repair Man.
The Toddler shuffles in. “I’ve done a wee in my trousers,” she confesses, shamefacedly. I shout at her a bit.
I contract the ‘flu.
My temperature shoots up before plummeting; my body aches – especially, I note with interest, my fingers. I might have some rare form of influenza of the fingers. The LTLP is sympathetic yet sceptical about this. My fingers feel as though they are going to drop off, which concerns me. I would look it up on the internet, but my laptop is broken. Meanwhile, I sweat buckets, generating laundry. I ring the Washing Machine Repair Man again. I am at my lowest ebb, and things cannot possibly get any worse.
The ‘flu is joined by diarrhoea.
Someone is out to get me. Someone, somewhere, has it in for me and has smitten me down with unfortunateness. I receive a further apologetic phone call from the Washing Machine Repair Man, who is now the man who I am most in need of in the world. I would look up other Washing Machine Repair Men on the Internet, but my laptop is broken. I curse my stupidity in leaving four pairs of perfectly good pants in Canada. The Toddler looks very smug. I shout at her a bit.