I think I might be cursed. No matter what I do, my doors always get broken. I put up barriers, traps, it doesn’t matter. Even if I had doors made of steel, they would get broken. Did I step under a ladder while spilling salt and smashing several mirrors, all without even noticing? Because if that’s not the case, I’d love to know why I’m calling the door replacement business in Melbourne every other week. Sometimes it’s the children, other times my husband. Sometimes it’s me. I can try as hard as I want, but I always find a way to break a door. In fact, I might be responsible for more broken doors than the others put together.
Take, for example, how the other day I returned home from a long day at the shops, only to swing one of my shopping bags too hard. It flew from my hands and struck the door with such force that it put a hole through it. Oh yeah, and the eggs were broken too. I mean seriously, was that door made of paper or something? It looked perfectly normal to me.
Oh no, I just heard a smash. I’m guessing that’s my daughter, crashing through the sliding door again. She doesn’t even notice it’s there, and somehow there’s never a scratch on her, but I suppose I should be grateful for that. I’d better organise some sliding doors installation, though. Will this curse ever end? I don’t know how much longer we can afford all these door replacements. Heaven help us if the windows start getting broken as well. I don’t think my heart could take it.
The worst case of door-breaking so far has been by my son. It was like something from a cartoon. He took his bike indoors and rode it as fast as he could down the hallway. What was he thinking? No helmet, no pads. He smacked into the door so hard that it left a massive hole shaped exactly like him. Fair to say that from then on, no more bikes.