The Family (Or most of them)

The Family (Or most of them)
The Family

December 30, 2007

Things in my home that can kill me



But the conception point for this post was borne one day last week when I realized that probably several million things had fallen behind my fridge over the years that I've lived here.

And that I might want to actually move the fridge out and find out what they were.

Where did the lid to that plastic storage container disappear to? Whatever happened to that ticket I had been meaning to pay?

And that's when I realized...there are things in my home that probably CAN kill me.

Now for those of you who might have seen previous posts I've done dealing with the INSIDE of my fridge, well, it's already an established, documented fact that there are living and dead things in there that pose a health hazard.

So we'll spare a revisit.

After I spent a recent afternoon picking up all the items that had fallen behind my fridge and put them through about 18 cycles in the dishwasher, I moved the fridge back in place.

I found no dead mice, if you were wondering.

And then I did a home inspection for other "things in my home that can kill me."

And I believe I might have opened up a whole new field of scientific research that can do nothing but aid humanity in the long term.

My preliminary findings are below.

I've discovered that objects in my home have the capability of being quick killers with immediate and fatal physical consequences or they can be more psychological and kill over time.

This, for example, is one part of a painting called Pipe Dream 1984 that I bought on New Year's Eve, 1984, while mostly drunk. This portion depicts a nuclear holocaust (hello Pakistan 2007!).

I've walked past this painting every day, virtually, for 24 or so years. What do you think the cumulative psychological effects might have been on my brain? Unfathomable.

This is my son's bedroom -- AFTER he's told me he cleaned it up. Enough said.

This is my fridge again, clearly one of the most dangerous single things in my household.

What tiny male brain wouldn't be paralysed and rendered completely useless by this pictorial kaleidoscope of family members and friends?

It boggles the mind and is another example of apparently harmless items potentially having a scatterbrain effect over long-term exposure.

This is my aptly called storage room. I won't even try to guess what menaces may lurk behind all that crap.

And God help me if I ever need to check out my water heater or actually ride my bike.

This is the trap door in the same room, a door I've previously blogged about and, in fact, opened up to the larger world.

I believed at the time there were zombies beneath there or at least corpses, if not plenty of mice.

So in a landmark, danger-filled expedition funded in part by the National Geophysical Weird Things Society, we opened up the crypt and took pictures. We found nothing of note but I continue to hear noises.

This, I believe, could one day get me, somehow.

This is a wall-hanging I brought back from India.

Aside from reminding me of some of the pleasures in life I am not currently enjoying, the images of lopped-off heads, snakes and swords can be unnerving at times.

And it may be that that wall-hanging is having some sort of Kama Sutra effect on my washer-dryer, which is close by.

The washer goes merrily and efficiently through its cycle but then the dial on the right always stops at the "spin" cycle. And it won't spin.

The clothes are still wet and I can't put them in the dryer and then go to sleep.

So I have to fiddle with the little nob, back and forth, back and forth, like breaking a combination lock on a safe, to get the spin cycle going again...

...So it will rev itself up into that orgasmic-like frenzy towards its climax. This seems eerily like something else, but I can't put my finger on it.

Anyway, my theory is that the cumulative effect of such ongoing frustration could very well shorten my life, because the landlord has known about this problem for months and still hasn't fixed it.

Nor have they fixed my smoke/heat detector, which emits the loudest, most high-pitched "beep-beep-beep" I've ever heard when it senses the temperature in my apartment has exceeded 20 degrees Celsius.

I'm almost serious. I can barely cook an egg or fry bacon and the stupid thing goes off, forcing me to force my son to wave a towel around it for minutes on end to get it to stop blaring in our ears.

I've disconnected it, meaning that if a real fire actually broke out, I'd be dead meat.

But the most dangerous thing of all, bar-none, is this Old Ship given to me by my mom.

It's made of very light and very sharp tin or something or other. I've cut myself on it several times and so has my son.

I have dreams about it falling on me and severing my carotid artery or something, so it poses both a long-term fear and a real physical threat.

I'd love to hear what things in your home could actually kill you.


  1. Tripping over things that Aidan has left lying around... particularly his boots... oh boy, I've become such a neat freak in his absence!

  2. It's OK, WW, I use the smoke detector as a cooking timer too.

  3. I have the same problem with the smoke detector when cooking. It's very annoying and I think it hurts my dog's ears (poor puppy).

    Not sure what else could potentially kill me in my own home. I'll have to inspect and report back.

  4. The horseshoe over my door.

    *notes plethora of pics of Homo Escapeons on your fridge*

  5. Stace:

    Yeah, and as I recall, he wears big Army boots, doesn't he? I wouldn't call myself a neat freak...


    No doubt...but the decibel level on those things is beyond ridiculous! I've never encountered one so sensitive!


    Poor puppy indeed...use your imagination, Anna. Allow yourself to get a little stupid, even.

    As I clearly did...

    Now with that in mind, carry out your inspection.


    Horseshoe above your door? And that would be to ward off (or attract)...what?

    All of the Homer Escapeons-related pix are to honour his lovely wife, who keeps sending them to me...

    Otherwise, they'd all just go in a container somewhere, rarely to be seen again.

  6. Happy New Year...well in a few more hours at least. You know that I can take care of those problems for you...and I am sure we can make negotiate a nice pay. :)

  7. I think my books toppling over me SHOULD kill me. I need to give away a hell lot of my books. I seldom have the time to sort through those. Internet takes away a lot of it and not to forget, reading.

    And I think you need a woman look after you. Problem is, who would?

    Although you and Donn both cheated about that Hoopla by NOT posting it on your blogs, but I am not going to start the New Year by scolding you.

    Wishing you happiness for always and not only in 2008.


  8. LOL WW u seem to live in a slaughter house?



  9. btw my house dun hv anything that cud kill anyone apart from this one thing called KESHI!


  10. The only thing in my house that can kill YOU is ME, and it might just happen if you persist in posting about your appliances!

    The ship wins! Hands down!

    I have cut my hands on that copper ship sculpture thingamabob every time I touch it.

  11. Awa:

    Umm, er...are you THAT handy? OK! Cheque (that's check, in Amurican) is in the mail!


    Finally, someone who actually is also surrounded by things that can kill them!

    Yes, Gautami, but WHO WOULD?

    Thank you for not scolding me (**scold Donn all you want, he thrives on it**). My Christmas spirit is a fickle thing of short duration.

    Happiness and hugs back.


    Slaughter house? Ha! Of sorts, I guess! HNY and hugs back. Isn't it about February there by now?

    And yes Keshi, you're a killer...

    Homely One:

    I guess I'd better not show up at your place for a while, then???

    I haven't posted about my dishwasher yet...or about my stove, for quite some time...

    Or my vacuum cleaner, which shorts out after about two minutes, or overheats or something...

  12. Tara:

    Ha! So I've heard. Smiles back.

  13. i have three cats and a teenage son... does that count?


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