One of my kitchen cabinets broke last week. It came completely off in my hand when I opened it to get some dish detergent. Of course, it broke on a day when we were having company over.
Naturally, I didn't want our company to come in and see the broken cabinet or all the cleaning supplies stored there, and maintenance won't come on a weekend. So, I played around with the door and got it back in place. It took a while to get the hinges lined up perfectly where the door would stay on and not be crooked. It still didn't function, but it was in place and looked normal.
But I forgot it was broken and pulled it off again when I needed the Windex. And again when I needed a sponge. And again when I needed something to clean the counter tops with. I think I pulled it off about five times before I finally remembered to leave it alone. Each time, I worked with it to get it back into place so our company wouldn't be able to tell it was broken.
Then Emily came in the kitchen and "clunk" the door came off in her hand.
"Was that supposed to happen?" she asked me.
I got it back in place again and headed off to another part of the house.
Ben came to find me. "I think I just broke a cabinet door in the kitchen."
I assured him it wasn't his fault and maneuvered it back into place just before our company arrived.
We hadn't seen them in years and one of the first things we did was give them a house tour. We were telling them about how great the housing is here and Kerry said, "Except for when things like this happen." And he yanked the cabinet door off the hinges and held it up to show them how it was broken.
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