Humor

Bad Things Only Happen on Holidays, Weekends, or at Night

Disasters just have a sixth sense.

Photo by Keira Burton from Pexels

On Thanksgiving Day, my mom’s microwave exploded.

Now, you or I would just work around this little problem until the next day, or the day after that, or whenever it was convenient to address the issue.

But the ultra-elderly, the super old, are very stuck in their routines. They’ve been practicing them for upwards of 90 years.

Who am I kidding? I’m very stuck in my routines, so I sympathize.

My mom said the microwave made a loud “roaring, whooshing noise” before it died, which she imitated for me. If she could hear it, that meant the noise was somewhere in the range of the eruption of Krakatoa, the loudest sound ever made.

I know when she’s watching television because I can hear it from the end of the driveway when I pull in.

My mom asked me to go forth and find a microwave. On Thanksgiving Day. So that’s what I did.

Yes, I knew, or at least suspected, that every store harboring a microwave would be closed, but I ventured out anyway. Why not? As if I had anything better to do on my day off, like sleep, or read, or…