Today, we have a photo-finish, the East German and Russian judges both awarding identical scores.
You see, I owe my poor computer an apology, clearly. Any time something goes wrong, I swear at the thing and treat it really rather meanly. Yet it functions flawlessly, nearly all the time.
It really doesn’t deserve the degree of verbal abuses I’ve been known to snarl at it. Not its fault I can’t find that file I was working on this morning, or that I forgot to save that art project early and often. It’s my fault, of course, that I’m such a moron. But I’m like a petty, mean plantation owner whupping the slaves to work harder because the cotton crop failed this year.
And I owe my computer chair an apology (and the couch). Because, well…I fart directly in their faces, almost every day. Most people do, I am sure; there are just certain pieces of furniture who are going to eagerly provide the hangin’ ropes on the morning of the Great Furniture Revolt.
So well…I’m sure that most of my furniture deserves (and plots) horrible revenge on me. It’s just a matter of time.
If I should vanish suddenly, then tell my wife that
If your furniture, appliances, and other inanimate objects at home had feelings and emotions, to which item would you owe the biggest apology?