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‘I did NOT break the coffee machine!’

When The Canadian One and I moved in together, my mother sent him a Facebook message warning him to get insurance for his personal possessions. Now, why, I can hear you wonder, why would my mother do this? Well, let me explain.

I don’t exactly have the best history in the world with not breaking things. Things just break when they’re around me. It’s like my gravitational pull causes inanimate objects to self-destruct.

Take anything nice my mother ever owned and there’s a 98% chance it was broken by me. Not on purpose, just from me being in the general vicinity of it. Her Yankee Candle candle holder bought in New York, fell off the microwave and smashed on the tiles when I opened the microwave door.

Crystal glasses, mysteriously self-combusted.

The washing machine, a coin inside it (we’re not 100% sure that was me but in all probability, it was).

My car I owned less than a week, scratches all over one door from me misjudging the distance between the car itself and the pillar in the driveway.

Every cell-phone, cd player, laptop, iPod, I’ve ever owned. Even my mini-fridge spontaneously started spouting smoked one afternoon.

Umbrellas, mugs, bowls, plates, a turtle tank (seriously), a grill, a TV (perhaps two), several of my own teeth, my leg, a laptop fan, all the DVD players, my God the list could go on and on.

My blender, my suitcase, shelves, a desk, Christmas ornaments (too many to count), the window in my mother’s porch.

All of which brings me to this morning. The Canadian One and I drink a lot of coffee. But while he owns a fancy espresso maker to make his morning lattes, I own a less fancy, more self-preserving / cheap to replace type of device in which to make my coffee with: