Actually the story of me and my hurty hand is not, alas, very interesting, being mainly a fight between me and the vacuum cleaner.
No, hang on, that also sounds far more exciting than it was.
Oh whatever. The story:
Anna is hoovering, and very thoroughly, because it is good that she does so. Because cleanliness is next to godliness and therefore hooveringness is next to jesusness.
Also because of allergy things. Her beloved is a bit Catllergic, but much more dampallergic, and since there is not only new kittings but, currently, a dampness problem being resolved in their house, she is trying to remove any trace of catness that there could possibly be around the bed, so as not to have two allergy things bothering her beloveds sleep (and therefore her own) rather than the one (very nasty) dampy one.
So Anna is hoovering.
The vacuum cleaner – not a Hoover, as it goes, but instead one of those posh ones without the bags and stuff – is refusing to follow her around the room, generally getting stuck behind things, turning itself wrongside upways and being as heavy as the moon, if the moon had a bendy sucking pipe attached to it, which, now I think about it, would be pretty cool.
Anna, vacuum cleaning, is getting into all the corners, and behind the bed, and under everything you can get the hoover tube under (which is admittedly not that much, it being the dreadful unwieldy beast that it is, the bastard). Anna is, therefore, stirring up a lot of dust. To which SHE is allergic. Her head is fuzzier than usual, her cheeks are flushed and her senses dimmed. She has just sneezed around four hundred thousand times in a row, and this has not improved her mood very much – her mood, as you may have gathered, not being much to speak of anyway at the moment.
Anna is trying very hard indeed to vacuum, but the vacuum cleaner, a design classic though it might be, is clearly a design classic designed to vacuum large empty expanses of carpet with no furniture in them. Which doesnt really describe our bedroom, which is small, with furniture in it. Like a bed and stuff. Yeah, I know, were livin on the edge.
The vacuum cleaner, which is clearly tired from all those years of sitting around while someone designed the shit out of it, is now trying Annas patience by getting one over-designed corner of its damned self trapped behind something pathetic, like a rolled up blanket or something, the pissy little twunt.
So Anna, who has frankly done ENOUGH vacuuming, and would now like to STOP, but would have preferred to DECIDE when to stop rather than having to flip this Moon-heavy BASTARD over again so she could finish when THE THING wanted her to stop. ARG!
Anyway, so now we have the grumpy dust-filled Anna in the red corner, and the belligerent hoover-bastard in the twat corner.
Anna decides to switch off the hoover.
Anna decides that if she switches off the hoover Very Hard it will teach the vacuum cleaner a lesson.
It will be turned off good and proper, and it will think twice before behaving so very terribly the next time around.
Anna goes to hit the off switch – BAD vacuum cleaner!
The Vacuum Cleaner sees this coming, and suddenly, mysteriously, develops a large plastic Nobble (its a technical over-design term) between Annas hand and the off switch – because thats the worlds most Perfect place to stick a nobble, isnt it? Right next to something someone might want to hit.
Anna wins! The vacuum cleaner is utterly (or possibly) chastised into never repeating its bad behaviour ever again. Or Ill sue.
Yes, I admit, one fifth of my hand is a deep purple/grey colour, had to be iced with some frozen turkey breasts in bags for an hour or so and might have swollen to almost twice its size, but my GOD it was worth it to teach that jumped-up hoover a lesson. Also, the turkey needed to be defrosted anyway, so it all worked out variously fine, apart from my hand, which is only occasionally suffering from a numbness of the thumb, but otherwise fine.
So I took some pictures of it, one which I put at the top there.
But then I thought that some people might say well thats all very well but where are the photos of the kittings?.
So I took this:
Which is VERY representative of the kittens and their cuteness, but not quite representative enough of the dark purple/grey of the corner of my hand, which is a lot more thrilling, frankly, so boo, bad photo (but cute kittings). Seriously, though, the corner of my hand is like an aubergine, and its all the fault of Cleaning.
Oh alright, Ill do a post about kittings next.