Curses!

Breaks Windows Far Too Frequently Man. In Theatres This Summer.I have come to the conclusion that one of you swine has scary and evil powers and that you, being a swine with powers both scary and evil, have taken it upon yourself to bestow upon me – me, who welled up with tears just the other day when I trod on yet another bloody slug that had slipped into my kitchen under cover of darkness with thoughts of stealing my electricity or food or whatever the hell giant slugs yearn for in kitchens – a curse!

A curse on me! Why? What did I do to you? I’m a nice person really. I help wasps out of my building at work when everyone else is hell-bent on squishing them. I open doors for people and don’t let them go just before their outstretched fingers reach the handles half as much as I used to. When my other half says "Actually, would it be okay for us to drive to another shopping precinct that contains exactly the same shops as this one?" I keep my thoughts to myself and do as she asks. Those girls in my attic? I’m protecting them from the nazis, okay!

You might be wondering just what form this curse takes and how I know that it is a curse and not, say, hereditary or one of the wacky side-effects of sleeping with that zebra on my recent trip to Africa. If you are then you won’t be disappointed by the following paragraphs.

In another universe this curse might be considered a superpower. There might be comic books created in my honour and movies filmed about me. Chances are good, knowing my luck, that an alternate Ben Affleck (with an evil goatee beard) would get the role and everyone would hate it but the royalty payments would mean that I could weather the abuse and insults from inside my gold-plated castle. In this universe, however, I am now … Breaks Windows Far Too Frequently Man!!!

I remember when I first became aware that I had a curse; that was this weekend and it’s to be expected that I’d remember just a few days ago in fairness. However, with hindsight, I now know that the curse first hit me several weeks ago.

I had ordered a new 3-piece suite: good quality leather, cream, sofa, chair, and a recliner. It came in from Germany where the cows are apparently softer and the craftsmanship is superior. As promised by the company with whom I had placed my order the 3-piece suite was delivered on the right day and at the right time. As opposite-of-promised by the company salesman who had gleefully taken my signature, my next-of-kin information, a swab, something personal from my bedroom beginning with ‘R’, and the all-important bank details the sofa would not fit through the door. He had taken the measurements down, he had assured me that there’d be no problem and … he’d lied! A salesman lying to get a sale in this day and age! Inconceivable.

They took the 3-piece suite away leaving me 3-piece suiteless and much hasty phonecallery fun took place. Don’t worry, they worryingly assured me, this happens quite often, they ulcer-formingly continued. The solution, it turned out, was that I would just have to remove my entire bay window and rearrange free delivery. Entire bay window. Remove. Me. No problem.

As luck would have it – I thought – I work with someone who used to fit double glazing windows for a living. He’s an IT Support Manager now so I’m not sure whether that’s a step up or down on the social ladder. Anyway, with his help I received sufficient instruction and aid on how to remove and replace a bay window that I coordinated with the delivery firm and rearranged my delivery. The day arrived and we set to work removing the four windows that together formed the front section of the bay. Windows one, two, and three came out with various levels of pushing. Window four wanted none of it. It probably had something to do with the vast amount of superglue – an ingredient not commonly associated with double glazing – holding it in place, courtesy of Cowboy Sam, builder to the stars and, sod’s law, me too. Window four needed a little extra push to get it out. The amount of force required turned out to be just past its breaking point. There was a loud ping and the pane of glass doubled in quantity. It was a bit like watching asexual reproduction only it involved lots of swear words and a few tears. For some of you that may more resemble sexual reproduction.

People looking through a window. Great subject matter I think you'll agree.So, one 3-piece suite in the house and one cracked window in my bay. Not a total disaster but far from perfect. I ordered a new window. This was ready within a few days. After realising I had supplied the wrong measurements to the glaziers I ordered another. Boy, was I feeling just a little stupid! No mistakes this time; the window arrived this weekend. It was … the right size! The crowd went wild. I removed the cracked window. The crowd held their collective breath. I put the new window in. The crowd stood to applause. I turned to take a bow. The window fell out onto my head, performed a triple loop, landed squarely on the concrete and a very disturbing sound filled the air: it was the sound of a double glazing window shattering. Some of the crowd had been filming the incident and ran off to send their videos in to You’ve Been Framed. From my little corner of the world there was a noticeable rise in the frequency and toxicity of swear words employed. I placed the old cracked window back in the frame.

I have ordered a new window, this being the third window I have now ordered from the same company. I couldn’t admit that it was for the same window frame and lied that I had done such a good job I now felt able to tackle another window with identical dimensions. I think they bought it.

I am grateful that the window did not shatter over my head. Perhaps my superpower/curse protects me in much the same way that bullets bounce off Superman. Possibly my soft, bouncy hair was the real hero.

So I’m cursed. I’m finding it hard to sleep at night imagining what terror awaits me when the new window is ready (this Friday, apparently.) I hope whichever one of you hexed me is happy knowing this. My money is on one of the following:

  • Window goes in perfectly but is so clean compared to the windows nearby that it is mistaken for a not-window by a seagull who proceeds to fly into it leaving a beak hole dead centre.
  • Neighbour is annoyed over failure of video recorder to capture my previous hilarious calamity and breaks window on purpose so as to get a second chance.
  • My whoop of joy at putting the window in without disaster causes a passing cyclist to lose control and catapult himself through my car windscreen.
  • On Friday morning I kick the window in at the glaziers just to save time.

Author: Mark

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9 Comments

  1. cursed? welcome to my life. i can’t belive you’re here trying to cash in on my website concept with your own "bad things happen to good people" spiel. the intarnet isn’t big enough for both of us buddy.

    suppose i was to start writing like you? huh? would you colour me an evil sodding bastard? put me in front of a firing squad and have me sconed (*stoned*, i know that’s not how you pronounce it but whatever!) to death? well i never!

    begin bad glass-breaking-joke thread:

    10 if you were into hip hop, you’d probably be a BREAK dancer.
    20 bugger off. why don’t you give me a BREAK?
    30 apparently, my girlfriend’s virgity isn’t the only thing you like to BREAK.
    40 what’s your favorite meal of the day? BREAKfast?

    come on everyone, join in the fun.

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  2. Why not put soft things down on the floor around the window so that if it *does* fall out again there’s a little less chance of it breaking?

    Or do these things not happen?

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  3. Soft things on the ground act as trampolines – you can check out any good cartoon if you don’t believe me – increasing the risk, for example, that the window would fall out, bounce out into the road, and smash both itself and the passenger window of my car.

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  4. So not even a duvet would work? *unconvinced & stubborn*

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  5. No. Being a rough, tough, gruff, buff (*) man I only use duvets with tog levels on a negative scale. Such a duvet would most likely cause the window to break instantly and leave sharp shards within my bedding. Although my manliness would laugh at the pain that would be caused during the night I would, nevertheless, bleed to death. My demise would be on your conscience and I simply couldn’t live with myself knowing how guilty you’d feel. Since I’d be dead anyway that would mean I’d have to come back as a ghost to absolve you/scare you pantsless (depending on my mood) which would ultimately lead to Yvette Fielding appearing to scream at me. And that’s not an option.

    (*) Please delete any 3 adjectives of your choice.

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  6. What’s a duvet? I feel left out 🙁

    I thought duvets was underwear or something.

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  7. You Americans in Americaland with your air conditioned jockstraps and your climate controlled socks probably don’t have them but over in Englandland the duvet is an important weapon in the fight against our harsh winters which sometimes deliver 0.03 mm of snow a year. You can find duvets, duvets, and more duvets at http://www.classicduvets.com/

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  8. Duvets is just a fancy word for bed sheets? I think I felt better when I thought they covered naughty bits and not nightly bits.

    "Oh, look at that girl right there. I’d love to get all up in her duvets."

    I think I prefer using it the wrong way. Who’ll know the difference around here anyway?

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  9. Duvets aren’t quite bedsheets. You might call them quilts over that side of the Atlantic river. Of course you might call them anything; you’re all odd like that.

    As for "Oh, look at that girl right there. I’d love to get all up in her duvets": that’s a perfectly acceptable phrase and one in common usage over here. It’s a quaint colloquial way of saying "I feel the need to settle down and court that delightful young lady with the approval of her parents and local priest."

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