There really is nothing more annoying than when something breaks. Actually, I take that back: things that break while my husband isn't home to fix them are much more annoying. As you likely realize, I freak out about everything which means I'm awful at repairing broken items. In my panic-stricken state, it's difficult for me to locate my socket wrench set for example. Where in the Sam Hill DID I leave that THING, I often scream to the dog who thinks I'm yelling at her and crouches close to the ground to avoid my raised voice in some semblance of an army crawl position.
I'm not yelling. I'm just using my upset voice, that's all. Ironically, the socket wrench set likes to hide from me when I'm using my upset voice. Like today, when I closed the garage door and the arm thing-y became detached from the garage door and I reasoned that I was now stuck in my house for all eternity. Why? Well, because I couldn't find the other thing-y that keeps the arm thing-y attached to the door. A nut? Or a bolt? I don't know what it's called, I just know that I could not find it. And I'm trying to find it on the floor of the garage underneath my mid-sized sedan while wearing stilettos and a super-slimming pencil skirt. Not exactly ideal thing-y finding attire.
That thingy? It likes to come loose (because it was me who last tightened it with my socket wrench set the last time my husband wasn't home to fix it) and fly to locales that can only be referred to as, "From here to Kingdom Come." Because that's where the one minuscule piece I need to jerry-rig the door has run to and I'll be gosh darned if I can find it without a flashlight. Which I also cannot find. Seriously, do I have to lose everything all in one day? Yes, yes I do.
As luck would have it though, right as I began to ration food while being stuck in my home for the remainder of my life, I remembered my husband has a large collection of small thing-ys. I found the thing-y I needed--and the socket wrench set and all was good again. At least until my awful fixing abilities make the garage door fall on my car. Then, things will not be good. Ever. Again.