My kitchen seems to have a hex on it these days. First, my electric skillet kamikazed off the counter, breaking off the handle and “foot” on one side. Next the toaster oven became, um, toast. Then the microwave bit the dust. If the expression about things coming in threes were accurate, that would have been the end of it. But last night, something else failed—rather catastrophically.
The day hadn't been going all that well anyway. I woke up with a sore throat and congestion. The cable went out (not a big deal, unless you have a telecommuting husband who needs that Internet connection to do his job). Natalie's nap was cut short when she somehow scratched her head (we still haven't figured out exactly how it happened). And so on.
I had made ribs and mashed potatoes for supper. I decided that I wanted a second helping of potatoes (hey, I'm a nursing mom! And potatoes are comfort food. I'm entitled, right?). I got up to go get them and returned to my chair to sit down.
Unfortunately, the chair (which had been a bit wobbly of late) chose that moment to fall apart completely. It was like something out of a slapstick sitcom, all happening in slow motion (at least that's how it felt to me). There was a sickening crunch of splintering wood. The chair gave way, I went down, mashed potatoes flew all over the kitchen, and Natalie and Sarah both broke into hysterical sobs of terror.
Ouch. Not to mention messy.
I consoled myself with a homemade gingerbread latte.
Anyone know a good carpenter? I have a project for him....