At 11:13 p.m. last night, my microwave died.
It's been on life support since the day after Thanksgiving. You'd punch in the time, push start and wait. It might turn on. It might not. You couldn't know until you pushed the button and it either worked or it didn't.
Now, you know. No question. It's completely non-responsive. Dead as a doornail.
And I can't replace it.
I can't replace it because my dryer broke. And then my dryer broke again.
I can't replace it because the $500 I'd budgeted for the 60,000 mile service on my crappy minivan became $1200 when they got in there and saw how neglected the poor thing had been.
I can't replace it because the overhead lights in my living room buzz and spark when you turn them on and I am unwilling to set the house on fire so now I sit here in the dark.
The faucet in the kids' shower is stripped and can be turned on only with a screwdriver. And now the darn thing is starting to drip. Hot water, no less. It's dripping hot water.
The fancy pop-up tub stopper broke, and now I can give my little guy a bath only by inverting a cup over the drain.
Two of my toilets need new flaps, I need to replace the door handle on my half bath, and I've shut off the hot water to the sink in there for want of a new washer. It's going to take an exterminator to get rid of the ant colonies in the basement. There's a hole in the roof of my shed, and I'm missing a good chunk of deck railing from where a tree fell three years ago.
My house is falling down around my ears.
So now I have to reheat my leftovers on the stove. Bake potatoes in the oven. Serve chicken nuggets cold.
Um, not sure what to do with the microwave popcorn, though.
But hey, I raked the yard. All by myself. I've got the blisters to prove it.
And the good news? Now the kids get to learn that "it's the thought that counts" applies to Santa, too. And, believe it or not, I think that's a pretty valuable thing to learn.