Tag Archives: Mr men

Tick tock says the clock but will there be a beep?


It is 2am! And there’s been a disaster! A calamity!

Sorry. I’ve swallowed a Mr Man book  been reading Mr Men books with my youngest students. Which 30, God no… 40 years on… seem rather more inappropriate. Though, just like me all those years ago, my students adore them.

But I digress.

It started off like this:

My husband abandoned me in the living room.

OK. OK. He left me  watching TV on the sofa. Where I started to nod, then drift… And the next thing I knew, I shot, bolt upright, only to discover that I was splattered with my own dribble.

I staggered through the living room, into the kitchen and desperately tried to remember exactly which medicine I should take and in which order. And not to take any of those correct medicines twice. Or even thrice. And not to take anyone else’s medicines by mistake. After all these years on the planet, I am finally getting used to myself and my own funny ways. I staggered and I blinked and I filled a glass with water. But in the time between the glass moving from the tap to my lips, a suicidal fruit fly had nose-dived into my water and appeared to be drowning.

I blinked a lot more. Yes. It was definitely a fruit fly. So, I calmly emptied the glass, rinsed and repeated. This time, luckily, without the invasion.

I wrote  a quick note for my son, said goodnight to a 20-something, fed the bewildered dog and pottered upstairs to the bathroom where I got into an argument with my own pubic hair. Don’t ask. It was all a bit icky.

Then I tried to find my bed in the dark.

I’ve eaten thousands and thousands of carrots in my lifetime. But they have done me absolutely no good. I have basically no night vision. Normally, I repeatedly switch my Fitbit on in an attempt to shine a light on the whereabouts of my bed (which helps somewhat, although I still stand on or walk into various items in the room, just less regularly. But that’s not so bad any more as my clever husband now wears earplugs to bed and so is rarely disturbed by my frequent shrieking/swearing/banging). But I had accidentally left my Fitbit charging in the car…

I clambered into bed and slapped around my bedside table in my nightly ‘alarm clock search’ routine. As usual, I knocked over the clock then picked it up again and pressed the snooze button down to see the time setting. Due to my acute night vision deficiency this is a repeated action. Without it, I can’t see the buttons or the changing numbers.  I altered my wake up time and I wanted to double-check I’d got it right. I’m a double-check kind of person. The simple fact is that I don’t trust my own brain.

I pushed on the snooze button and the snooze button stayed pushed. As in, it didn’t pop back up.

I pushed and I pushed and then, in desperation I attempted several pulls, with varying techniques. I even put the actual bedside light on to help me with my situation. But to no avail. The pushed button remained disconcertingly pushed.

Would the light remain on?

Would the battery wear out?

Would the alarm go off or would it believe, that in that very moment, when it had intended to beep, that I could possibly have simultaneously hit its snooze button?

And if that should be the case, would it live in some kind of limbo? Convinced that my finger hovered over its button?

Black Friday over by just a mere two hours and I had managed to incapacitate my alarm clock.

I looked over at my Mr Fix-It. Sleeping soundly. I didn’t dare to wake him with my conundrum.

Especially as he’d reminded me, before he went to bed, that I had woken him up at some ungodly hour, excitedly showing him a few early Black Friday deals.

Will I wake on time in the morning?

Should I brave the minus temperatures in my nightshirt and rescue my Fitbit from the car?

Will I ever get back to sleep?

Such a misfortune! What a calamity! A bloody disaster!

 

 

 

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Happily living with Mr Fix-It


Mr Fix-It is in the bathroom, right now, repairing the light switch. It doesn’t matter that it is 1:10 in the morning. It’s of no consequence that he’s tired like hell, (to the point that his eyes are completely bloodshot). No. The important fact is, that the switch in the bathroom has, suddenly and mysteriously fallen out of its socket and now hangs loosely against the wall.

Mr Fix-It is faced with the ‘what if’ dilemma. The ‘what ifs’ and ‘just in case’ scenarios that could possibly happen in this six-person household between now and the breakfast time part of the morning.

So, he’s collected his tool kit and is busy working his magic.

I have to say, I’m with him on this one.

After all, our inquisitive ten-year-old ADHD son could be faced with many urgent impulses to fulfil on his next toilet visit. Especially before his daily dose of Ritalin. And, to be frank, we’ve already ticked the electrocution box at the local hospital.

Or, our charming three-year-old daughter could poke her little, tiny fingers somewhere she shouldn’t.

Shudder.

I doubt the older girls would do something stupid. But, after the ‘drink toilet water’ dare, you never know.

A couple of birthdays ago, the children and I bought Mr Fix-It a Mr Mischief t-shirt. There were no Mr Fix-It t-shirts in store. Or, for that matter Mr Tickle t-shirts. Which, if I found myself in a crazy gun-to-the-head situation, whereby my only salvation would be to list my good husband’s top ten Mr Men qualities, would hit the nail on the head. Along with Mr Tall, Mr Clever, Mr Cheeky, Mr Brave, Mr Funny, Mr Strong, naturally Mr Clumsy and Mr Lover-Man. Oh, that last one isn’t a real Mr Man? Pity. OK: it would have to be Mr Perfect. *Sigh*.

The tenth one? The t-shirt covers it: Mr Mischief, of course.

You may be fooled into thinking, that if my husband is the one and only Mr Fix-It, that I, as his wife, am the diligent and capable Mrs Fix-It. Sadly, you would be (very) mistaken.

Indeed, had I my own tool kit, it would most likely to consist of: sellotape and blu-tac (to stick things back together); a hammer and a few nails (to keep items in their place) and some coloured pens (to hide my mistakes).

Furthermore, were I to be named after one of the Mr Men, I would definitely be Mr Bump. You see, my primal tendency is to destroy.

The good news is, that Mr Fix-It and Mrs Bump is truly a perfect match. Because, Mrs Bump always keeps Mr Fix-It busy and entertained. With some assistance from her four children. Having her genes and all.

Mr Fix-It informs me that he doesn’t actually enjoy fixing things, but cannot stand when something doesn’t function properly.

Recently our projector started to distort its own images due to the presence of dust.

Mr Fix-It could no longer comfortably watch television or DVD’s in his own home. Therefore the dismantling of the projector became necessary.

First step. Vacuum inside and remove the dust.

Little success.

Second step. After much digestion of information available on the net, buy an air-spray, and blow out the dust, which would in turn be captured by a feckless assistant with a vacuum cleaner to hand (me).

Result: not mind-blowing.

Third step. A rerun of step two. With one exception. Well-meaning assistant off to town with a friend for sushi.

Consequences: Not good. Two cables damaged by sucking power of the Hoover. Thus, all images could only be seen in shades of green. One extremely stressed husband. Some swearing.

Fourth step: Mr Fix-It constantly fiddling, scraping, cutting, blowing, connecting, disconnecting, sweating. For several hours. While I commented on Facebook with helpful suggestions, in my ‘stay out of the way’ strategy.

Outcome: At last some shaky red! A relieved but unsatisfied man and his trying-to-be-consoling wife who offered up the possibility of watching television in funny colours. (Blue supposedly still astray).

Suggestion dismissed we moved to step five which saw more of step four, avoidance being my main objective, and perseverance that of my now somewhat intense husband.

Then came the shout. He had fixed it! Jubilation rang out all around the house.

The success of Mr Fix-It means that we can now watch telly not only in normal colours, but also dust free. Additionally, an old pair of tights has been transformed into an extra filter to help prevent dust from messing up further viewing experiences.

Although, we do now have a ‘dead pixel’ on the right hand side of the screen. A red dot to remind us of our adventure.

Mr Fix-It is under strict instructions not to attempt to repair the projector again.

Perhaps, in his gun-to-the-head circumstance, my Mr Fix-It would actually describe me as his Little Miss Bossy.

Truth is, living with Mr Fix-It brings out in me Little Miss Sunshine. He fixes not only our household goods (or those of other people we happen to visit). Not just the items that we unfortunately damage. But also the problems and difficulties we face in everyday life. Or at least, he tries to. Obviously, he doesn’t always avail. But having someone here, doing his best for us, every day. That’s something that I often feel the need to shout out loud about.

“This post is part of SOYJOY‘s What brings you joy contest. Learn more here.