One day at the beginning of this week I received an email saying that my dog, my beloved. amazing dog, has been shortlisted as a finalist in the RSPCA Ruffs competition.
This means that she will be seen by approx half a million dog lovers online, and I will hopefully be able to conjure up enough likers for her to get through to the finals. And even maybe win.
This made me dance a jig.
Shortly afterwards, I said to my new boyfriend (WEIRD, CANNOT GET USED TO THAT) that things are going too well and that it's making me edgy.
To move into a new place I love, to start having feelings of the warm and fuzzy kind for an actual human being, to have my pooch publicly recognised as Queen of the Universe, it's all a bit too good. Something's going to happen. Like my head's going to snap off my neck. Or my foot will fall off. Or I'll need to have an extraneous organ removed. Or my hair will start snapping off. Something.
Luckily - PHEW - the very next day my toilet broke. Not a biggie, you may think. And so did I. One plumber later and it turns out I need a brand new bog. Well, let's look on the bright side, right? You don't get a new bog every day of the week do you? Might be quite nice. Means I get to shit where no man has shat. That kind of thing.
Five tortuous hours later - a long time when you need a wee really quite badly but are hindered by the fact that plumber has removed your toilet entirely and then left the flat with no explanation. Just as you're starting to weep internally - and possibly externally - he trundles back chatting away about how he's just been catching up with the builders downstairs.
Do you want to like, replace my FUCKING TOILET MATE. I said. In my head. I rictus-grinned my way through the next two hours and then had a wee. Aaaaaaaaaaah.
That must have been it. The yang to the yin. The bad to the good. Balance has been restored. All is well.
The very next day after #toiletgate I turned my hot tap on and instantly lost all power. Ahhh, a switch has been tripped, I nodded wisely to myself. I know about this. You just find the appliance what done it and you unplug it. A hair pulling hour later it turns out to be the water tank. Yeah. couldn't have been the cunting toaster could it? Had to be the fucking hot water tank that is now going to have to be replaced. I have no hot water until some unspecified time next week. Still, I don't like to wash, so it could be worse.
And as I go to heat some food, it instantly is. Somehow, for some reason best known to the gods of fate, my brand new purple microwave now no longer works. It's not the fuse. It's not the socket. It's just gone: "I know what you need, you need to not have a proper job, be struggling for money, worrying about paying bills every second of every day, cancelling fun trips to see friends because you have to go to your 90th job interview, have no hot water AND have a broken microwave."
Still, could be worse. Live, laugh, love. Etc. I blame it on the ley lines meself. Or all them suicides what happened in this house. Must be that.
Also, I will be blogging heavily, extensively and extremely annoyingly about Sushi's bid to become the RSPCA dog of the year, so keep your eyes out.