Just because the CFO is away, you do not have carte blanche to fuck with my head by breaking, squeaking, jamming, leaking and generally misbehaving. I do not care what he whispered to you before he left, with his parting caresses to the thermostat and the tortoises. I am here and I know where the fuse box is. Probably. Whatever. I have a hammer and I know how to use it.
Shower, you in particularly are going to get your shitty pvc head kicked in very soon. I am sure it is very hilarious for you to turn yourself back on again and refuse to turn off. Oh yes, ha ha I am so glad I put my corset on today, for my sides are verily splitting, yes indeed. And you, wrench, or "pince" or whatever it is you call yourself, yes you:
I see what you and the CFO where doing there, keeping the shower shut off, but how was I to know that this morning when I innocently removed you to have a shower? Also, but could you not show me the common decency of having some moderately intuitive system of shutting? I have spend half an hour swearing and weeping at your obstinately open jaws to no avail and have had to use gaffer tape to shut your ridiculous mouth. The CFO has attempted to explain on the telephone, but his exhortations of "point mort" "vice" "déserrer pour serrer" have only made me grind my teeth and whimper. Unfortunately the gap between you, "pince" and the shower wall is too small to get the roll of tape through without knocking you off the vital screw, so each time I try, the shower turns on again. Hilarious! I have had to abandon you altogether and wrap tape around the whole thing and hope for the best.
Heating and hot water, I have nothing more to say to you. Your single-minded insistence on screwing up every time the CFO leaves the house is no longer a surprise to me. I prepare myself for long periods without washing or heat. You hold no fear for me. I have a hot water bottle and lots of jumpers and smelling bad is a good way to get a seat on the tram. Do your worst! Bring it on.
Gaffer tape, you are my only friend tonight. Not only are you keeping me from drowning in a tidal wave of mysteriously brown shower water, but you have also assisted me in making a robot out of a Tic Tac carton, for reasons that are as obscure to me as they are compelling to Lashes. I am not wild about the way you twist yourself in knots or refuse to rip cleanly, but you are still my only ally. You can stay.
Key, lock, door - you are bastards, all of you. I can't quite work out whether you would like me to be murdered in my bed by Damien from the corner shop, or whether you would prefer for me to be locked out on the street at the mercy of Damien and his pervy lecherous comments, or indeed for me to be condemned to stand all day beside you, door, as you, key, refuse to come out of you, lock. You are not big, or clever. One day I will watch you melt you in a fiery furnace and LAUGH and fan the flames.
CFO's phone, I don't know what you are even DOING here. You should be on an industrial estate in Germany with the CFO. He has asked me to transfer all your functions in some arcane way to him, though if he were in his right mind he would know that I could no more do this than I could sprout wings and fly you to Germany in my feathery grasp. Instead I am swearing at your teeny tiny buttons and ineptly fielding calls from German tractor salesmen. If one more of them calls, I am dropping you down the loo. It will be fully justified.
That is all. I live here too you know. Some of you would do well to remember that. Please do not disturb me for the next hour. I need Migraleve pinks and gin.
Your part owner.
(ps. Iron, if you think that I have forgotten you falling on my thumb while I looked for a ruler yesterday you are very much mistaken. I have my eye on you too)
Do join in anyone. It's pathetic fallacy day here on Belgian Waffle. Is your car out to get you? Your vacuum cleaner? Your microwave? Write them an open letter in the comments box. Share the rage. Oh, and anyone technically proficient who can explain to me how to shut the jaws of that tool thing gets a Belgian prize.