“I’m sorry, I won’t be in work tomorrow, I’ve just blown my hand off with the steam cleaner…”
In a parallel universe, that actually happened. If you subscribe to the theory that every decision cleaves off a different universe in which that option was explored then, somewhere out there in all the folds of reality, I have a bloody stump where my right-hand would be.
In this universe, however, I merely said the words “Jesus Fucking H Christ On A Bike!” much louder than I have ever said them in my life ever.
I used the steam cleaner yesterday to give Peppa’s room a blast of steam, to kill fleas and generally sanitise her environment a little bit. While I was doing it, it was noted that – to quote Carole – “the steam smelled funny”. I had dismissed that as being the after-effects of blasting the now-empty cat litter tray with steam and that had merely conjured up every single atom of cat wee smell in the known universe.
It might have been that, or it might have been water and steam slowly buggering up the internal workings of the steam cleaner so that, today, when I plugged it in and turned it on it a) didn’t work and then b) blew up. It’s not the first time something like this has happened – at my parents once, I went for a shower and for some reason it didn’t work so I ended up having a bath. While I was relaxing in the bath the shower blew up with an almighty bang, possibly large enough to start its own universe.
Both of these incidents could be categorised as “brown-trouser” events. However, in one of them I was naked and in the bath, so you can imagine how that went.
I text Carole when the incident occurred, as she was out and about.
She text back. “Ooops. Did it trip the electrics?”
Not, “oh my god, are you alright?”.
Not “Are you ok?”.
Nothing like that.
Just whether it had tripped the electrics. Something that can be fixed by just flicking the switch back up. Whereas my hand, should I have lost it, would have been a bit more of an issue.
It was like the time that I cut my foot and was bleeding and she came to my aid and immediately started washing blood from the carpet or off the kitchen lino while I sat on the couch trying to stop Pumpkin from drinking my blood and thus acquiring a taste for humans…