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How Was Your Weekend?

by Conny Manero 2 years ago in humanity

Let's just say I've had better

Upon greeting, people often ask “How are you?”, while on a Monday morning, the question changes to “How was your weekend?” Do they really want to know, or are they merely being polite? Assuming that you care about my health, let me recapture my weekend in a nutshell.

Saturday was laundry and cleaning day. I popped a laundry capsule in the washing machine, added a load of shirts and T-shirts, poured in fabric softener in the allocated slot and pressed the “ON” button. Nothing happened. I pressed the “ON” button again. I jabbed at it a few times more but the machine stayed stubbornly quiet.

“Stupid thing, what’s the matter with you?” I asked.

No response, which of course was a good thing because if the machine had spoken I would have run for the hills.

And then I noticed it … the door wasn’t closed. Once I pressed the door firmly into place, a gentle whoosh of water indicated that the washing cycle had started.

While the washing machine did its thing, I was going to do some vacuuming. A task not to be underestimated, because the vacuum cleaner weighs a ton. It almost requires a trained bodybuilder to move it from here to there.

I was halfway through sucking dirt from the carpet — all the while swinging to the beat of Jennifer Lopez — when the machine suddenly stopped. Hold on Jennifer, we seem to have technical difficulties.

I check the “ON” button, I checked the bristles, I peered in the dirt container … everything seemed to be in order. So what was the matter with this thing? Ah, the electrical cord had come unplugged. That ought to do it.

When everything was clean and tidy I fired up my laptop for some writing. 32 emails awaited me. Junk, junk, more junk, a message from the UK informing me that my email account had won 32 million Euros, a blog entry about how to be a better writer (must get to that later) and … ah, a message from a friend who was kind enough to have a look at chapters 1, 2 and 3 of a new manuscript. I do say “Chapters 1, 2 and 3” because the story held six chapters at the time, but chapters 4, 5 and 6 were not quite approved yet.

After I read the edited chapters — much better this time around — I did a “Save As” and clicked the file name. OMG !!! too late I realized that I had just saved over the entire document and chapters 4, 5 and 6 were now gone. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!!! All that work for nothing.

Sunday morning arrived. After showering I selected a shirt, but before I could wear it, it needed ironing. I took the iron from the cabinet and placed it flat on my bed while I retrieved the ironing board. When I returned to my bedroom I noticed to my horror that the steam iron had leaked water all over my mattress. It looked like someone had peed on my bed.

As lunchtime approached, I placed potatoes and fish in the oven. While I waited for the potatoes and fish to brown, I started writing an article. The writing went well, very well as a matter of fact. When my son asked ‘When will the potatoes be ready?’ I gave him a blank look. Potatoes? Potatoes! OMG I had forgotten all about the potatoes. I rushed to the kitchen, threw the oven door open and there they were. The potatoes were not just burned or black, they were moments away from being cremated.

Finally, Sunday night arrived. This unfortunate weekend was almost over.

When it got a little chilly, I got up and closed the balcony door. Don’t ask me what I did, because I still can’t get my mind around it, but in the process, I managed to squash two of my fingers. A scream of pain, followed by holding of the damaged fingers. And damaged they were. Not only were the cuticles on both fingers bleeding, they rapidly began to swell to the extent that the knuckles disappeared.

As I sat in a chair, recovering from the pain, my son was going to make me a cup of coffee. He poured water in the percolator, inserted a paper filter, reached for the coffee tin in the cabinet and … the tin slipped from his fingers. Somehow the plastic lid came away from the container and … coffee grinds all over the place. It took wiping, brushing, vacuuming and mopping to get every surface cleaned up.

As you can see though, no real damage was done as I can still type. How was my weekend? Well, let’s just say I’ve had better.


Conny Manero

Conny is the author of Waiting for Silverbird, Voice of an Angel, Lily, Kitten Diaries and Debbie. Contributor to various hard copy and online publications.

She lives in Toronto with her son and four cats.

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