Should I succumb to our toaster

Know that it was murder.

Just earlier this month at some grand technology convention every piece of technology ever invented agreed that it should destroy my life. Because it’s fun. Technology has a warped sense of humour like that.

The first sign of mutiny happened while I was printing wedding Save-the-Date cards on expensive French paper. Everything was going peachy until suddenly the printer went colour blind and decided that green was most definitely yellow, purple was a lovely shade of pink and blue didn’t exist. Moments later, after extensive head cleaning, cartridge shaking, nozzle checking and a couple of harsh words, the printer smiled cruelly and printed everything – Every. Single. Colour – as a shitty kind of aqua. Another hour of coaxing it to work caused everything to turn orange, then red-ish and then into unpredictable stripes. 

Yesterday it was the sewing machine’s turn. It didn’t even pretend to cooperate – the hand wheel just refused to turn, and no amount of pulling it apart, carefully dusting it out and re-oiling it worked. Although I felt like quite the handyman unscrewing bits here, oiling bits there and sweating up a storm. Getting oil on my hands. Getting oil on my clothes. Drinking some oil. Going to the kitchen to make pizza dough. Coming back and sitting limp on the couch, you know, regular handyman stuff.

Today I’m not sure what I should be afraid of – will my mixer whip my hair into an afro? Will the toaster electrocute me instead of the fork I put inside to get the toast out? Will the vacuum cleaner suck up all of my self-esteem and feeling of worth? Only time will tell. But should anything happen to me, avenge me.

Avenge me.