Picture the scene: It’s 10ish in the evening, the wind is howling outside, Andrew and I are snuggled under a blanket watching pap TV and doing a bit of surfing (not the how-long-I-can-stand-on-this-foam-board-before-I-fall-into-the-ocean-to-my-almost-certain-death kind. But the I-wonder-why-cats-have-nine-lives Google kind).
Suddenly our idea of a mid-week blissful evening came to an abrupt end with an almighty CRASH!!!
“What the Hell was that?” said Andrew breaking his two hour long staring competition with the screen of his Ipad.
“That,” I said in a voice which has seen way too many scary movies. ‘Was the sound of doom, and it came from our bedroom!”
The brave one
Now generally, in most relationships, there is the ‘brave one’. The one who dares to boldly go where no-one has gone before. Or, in this case, the one who grabs a heavy, blunt object and creeps upstairs to investigate said crashing noise.
Our relationship does not follow this pattern. Oh no, we are without doubt, both consummate cowards. Don’t get me wrong, if push came to shove we would defend each other and our families to the death, or at least to the really bad boo-boo. But when it comes to unexplained, creepy noises on dark and stormy nights – forget it! It’s then a case of he who dares has usually been forced to.
So, with legs shaking like the proverbial jelly, we both (carrying the obligatory blunt, heavy objects) warily climbed the stairs. As we pushed open the bedroom door the comforting thought that the money we’d shelled out on making our wills was money well spent washed over me. The gruesome sight that greeted us would have struck terror into hearts of even the most ardent of horror fans – – – – –
A shelf had collapsed and half the contents of my wardrobe lay in tangled heaps of carnage on the floor – aaarrrrggghhhh the horror of it!
Jewellery tangled mercilessly around heaps of woolen gloves and scarves, makeup had catapulted itself to all four corners of the room unforgivingly spilling its contents onto our highly impractical, but perfectly biscuit-coloured carpet, belts, bags and bangles had leaped out of their boxes – I could have wept.
But hey, that’s how the cookie, or in this case the woefully inadequate shelf bracket crumples. (And I don’t care what Andrew says about overloading shelves, shelf brackets are meant to groan with weight and shelves are supposed to be banana shaped).
Anyhow, if the shelf hadn’t collapsed I would not have had a massive wardrobe sort out. By sorting out my wardrobe I made heaps of room for more
crap carefully selected pieces of clothing and accessories. I also wouldn’t have found the scarf I’d forgotten I owned, which I’m wearing in the pics below. See, there’s always a silver lining.
Scarf – Christmas pressie / Nails – Model’s Own in Hayley’s Comet / Teeth – my own.
And just in case you are desperate to know – one of the theories why a cat is believed to have nine lives is this: Bastet, the cat-headed Goddess of Egypt, was said to have nine lives, which gave rise to the saying about the good old moggy of today. See, you learn something new every day.