“This is why we can’t have nice things!”
It’s no secret that I’m a klutz but I exceeded myself this weekend. I kicked over a can of soda, stubbed my toe on J.’s textbooks, dropped his laptop (luckily on a sofa!), fell down the stairs at our flat, burned my hand making a (spectacular) sweet potato and brie flatbread, and somehow our HDMI cable isn’t working. I’m suspected, although I don’t know how this one could possibly be on me. Although the suspicion is justified. When visiting parents over Thanksgiving break, I picked up my mother’s laptop to check my email and the whole thing froze. I hadn’t even opened anything!
However, even I am not the supreme wrecker in our clan! That title belongs to Buddy. It was forever cemented when we were living in Brussels and about to move to the UK. Dad and Mum had gone over the Channel to look for housing and I was left in charge of the three younger kids for a few days. It passed largely without incident until the last day we were on our own.
Buddy wanted to watch a film on VHS (remember? Remember those days?) and had turned it on and inserted a tape when suddenly,
I was in the kitchen and ran out to find Buddy and Snickers staring opened mouth as a thick gray smoke poured from the machine’s tape flap. But this was no ordinary smoke! Instead of rising it sank heavily like stage fog and smelled vile.
Images of our parents returning to a burned out shell of a home catapulted me across the room. I yanked the plug from the wall, stumbled outside carrying the whole machine, and put in on our stone patio where all four of us hovered at a safe distance and watched smoke trickle from it. After the panic subsided and the trance ended, we rounded on the hapless Buddy.
“What did you do?”
“We could have died!”
“Mum’s going to murder you!”
“I didn’t do anything! I just put a tape in! I’m sorry!”
Luckily an hour later the whole thing was extremely funny and when the parents returned we reenacted the whole thing with a great deal of flair. Nobody could explain the physics, electronics, or mechanics of the affair, so we just chalked it up to good old genetics.
We of clan Small Dog are wreckers.