Why I am always right ...

... and my husband is wrong. First of all, we agreed among ourselves that I am always right and not he. This makes our life much easier.

In fact, I have proven my skill, several times, that I always know where a problem comes from, how it could come to this trouble that draws attention to itself in an unpleasant way.

The compressor

So the other day, when one of my brothers took the compressor out of the workshop into the outbuilding and connected it from there again - through the wall - to the appliance belonging to it in the workshop, he must have connected something wrong.

I was lounging on the living room couch, taking a siesta, when suddenly I had no internet. I called for my darling: "There is no internet here, do you have any?" And he:"No!"

He tried if the devices in the kitchen worked (where he was currently sitting at the table playing Clash of Clans). "The cooker doesn't work anymore! But the hobs work!"

Meanwhile, I tried the light switches in the living room and shouted: "The light here doesn't work! But it works in the toilet!"

So we called back and forth a few times.

Finally we met my brother (who happens to live there and owns the house), not the one who had re-placed the compressor to the new location (and also lives there), but the other one.

He went to the fuse box and said it was a "rather minor problem". While I was already muttering that it would surely have something to do with the fact that I had heard a loud bang from the workshop some time before, when my brother was using the compressor, and that it would most certainly be a problem of how the compressor was set up.

Being laughed at

At first this was laughed at, as I have no expertise whatsoever in "electrics" and "electronics". Of course, they did not laugh out loud, these men, but just ignored me and my razor sharp diagnostics.

Murmuring, my other brother initially denied this as the cause. What can I say, of course I was right. But later, among the men, it was the other brother who said, "he knew it right away." Not mentioning me and how I was instantly and magically sniffing the true cause. A professional electrician had to come, for it's not allowed to break the energy reading device. Or whatshemacallit..

If I hadn't been annoyed, it would have amused me greatly, as it did just now.

The heater

I slept voluntarily in the basement these days, where my brother had set up a guest bed. The coolness there is really soothing when it reaches thirty degrees outside and so I have come to terms with the evil of finding some uninvited friends in the cellar. Which also happened. But more about this encounter in a moment.

Anyway, one day the chimney sweep was there to inspect the heating system in the basement. She stayed in the cellar for a suspiciously long time and nothing was heard. I started to get restless, but I refrained from making any remark, as my brother accused me of painting things black all too often (while I say, it's "healthy sceptizism" and trusting my nose). But I kept my mouth shut.

When I went down to the cellar, again, to be away from the day's heat, I heard a constant noise from the heating-system. Later on, back in the kitchen, I complained about the noise, for it was a NEW noise, not the one, I was used to sleeping two former nights in the basement. My brother went down and fumbled at the thing. Went upstairs and told me "it's fixed". I was not all calmed down. In the night, when I went to sleep, the noise greeted me again. Not the old noise, the NEW one.

Unjustly being accused of being a "princess"

Next day I told my brother, that "something is wrong with the heater." He told me to "live with it and shut up". I must say, that I got satisfaction when it turned out, the the chimney lady obviously had no idea about this 40 year old system and that my thesis - not to touch old things which just function fine - is valid. She touched a spot, where she shouldna.

Brother, the one, not the other, decided on a new heating system anyways. Only now he has to schedule it differently and must do it earlier than later.

Must I really say that I was right?

The men must listen to me, when I complain about one thing, but ignore another. I am always right in the matters. Why? Cause I know the house and I know my apartment and its devices for a long time. Thats why. Maybe my magic works also in new places with new devices, that I am not sure of.

So, when I am finde with a stink in a kitchen, that is fine. When I complain with a stink in the bathroom, it's not FINE. I have a sense when things have to be taken care of and when it can wait. Proof is my life and how often I hit the mark.

But let me tell it in order.

Here another happened story, which I made into a comment on someones blog:

The washing-machine

My man and I intended to spend a lazy Sunday. I only put some laundry in the washing machine to use the good weather, in order to dry the clothes outside. My son was complaining about the bad smells in the room, once you start the machine.

My man thought it might be the lint filter. And so he unscrewed the part and gave it to me to clean - there was hardly any dirt on it. Unfortunately, he ripped out the emergency drainage hose in the process. As a result, we had to spend two hours taking the machine apart to figure out how to reattach the hose. Since I didn't have a suitable tool, I had to go to the neighbour and borrow some. A good opportunity to feel useful :)

The whole affair could have really annoyed us and I also teased my husband to the effect (afterwards!) that he is best off leaving things alone that are not obviously broken but are very old, and I had located the bad smell in the sink drain anyway than in the machine itself.

He asked me if I couldn't have told him that straight away, but since he was so know-it-all when he unscrewed the filter, I let him do it, maybe I have a little mischievous side to me. LOL. I was also not a thousand percent sure, but only mostly, which is a difference. I laughed at him a bit because when I said that very old working machines are better left alone (from my point of view, any form of touching is already an act on a knife edge), he said I should try that on an old car, let the oil filter get dirty, that this comparison would be more than lame. And he would know exactly what I meant.

I cannot end this story without praising my husband's really great hands. Like a precision surgeon, he put the emergency drainage tube back in place. This involved pinching his hand and forearm because the stubborn machine only allowed him to reach through the rubber lip and the narrow space of the drum. He is the best man in the world.

Now to ...

the visitor.

Shortly, before I decided to turn off the light, I craved for something sweet and decided to go upstairs and fetch for something. Right where and when I wanted to put one foot on the ground I saw a black thing sitting there.

I watched. She watched. We did not move. Then I moved. She did not. Still sitting there. I was like "Oh, gosh... really? Can you make yourself invisible, like before?" I hushed her down the bed and was ready to give her her space.

Went upstairs to treat me with sugar and went back to "sleep" afterwards. Now, as I was watching my favorite thing on the Net, with lights turned off, I saw something in the corner of my eye on the wall next to the bed - too close, I must say. Enough was enough! I said to her: "Now, are you going to bother me all night? Stay there, I'll be right back!"

I remembered having seen empty glass jars in the cupboard. So I grabbed the biggest one and rushed down. There she still was awaiting me. I aimed with cold precision and caught her right away! Now, putting the lid onto the jar was also easy. I scared her with a scratch against the wall to the very bottom of the jar. Then I quickly closed the lid, ran upstairs, opened one, two, three doors, ran into the darkness of the garden, where the big bushes grow, placed the jar to the ground, threw open the lid and fled as quick as I could back into the house.

I'd say, I am a very capable women.

;-)

Pictures by me, except spidey:

by Juan Martin Lopez on Unsplash