I just killed Gladys
I didn’t mean to. I’ve (sort) of looked after her over the years but finally she’s gone. Just couldn’t take the pace I suppose. I try to be kind and almost never swear at her, or smack her with my fist to hurry her up. And I haven’t dropped a cup of tea over her for more than a year.
For ages I’ve been promising to download and print my parking receipts from the City of London and Westminster. Every month I’ve reminded myself and every month I’ve ignored myself.
Well today I finally did it. Luckily for me she lasted until the final page before exuding a strangled squeak, a small puff of smoke – a puffettte really, and dying spectacularly.
It was probably my own fault really for using generic cartridges instead of the real ones. A lady should always be dressed in the best, but each of the real ones cost nearly twice what I paid for the dratted machine in the first place.
And now Gladys is no more. I’ll miss her – until tomorrow. I’ve seen a newer, more svelte model in the supermarket. I’m going to called her Doris.
And she was rubbish at scanning.