plots re­venge against her in­ept fridge de­signer.

Sunday Herald Sun - Stellar - - Contents - Kate co-hosts Hugh­esy & Kate, 4–6pm week­days, on the KIIS FM Net­work.

Like most fem­i­nists, I hate men. Ac­tu­ally, even though writ­ing that sen­tence gave me the most im­mense plea­sure, it’s not, strictly speak­ing, g, true. I don’tdon t hate all men. I hate one. ne. I hate a man.

To be hon­est, I don’t ac­tu­ally know for sure that he is a man. I mean, I’m pretty tty cer­tain he is. And I’m so blinded ed by ha­tred, I don’t have time me to get bogged down in n the de­tails. I just hate him, m, you know. As in loathe. athe. De­spise.

Theree are many rea­sons for this. I mean, he’s a mas­sive idiot. But ut heaps of peo­ple are, and I don’t hate them. em. And his lim­ited com­pe­tence wouldn’t t mat­ter so much if he a) hadn’t been given a po­si­tion n of au­thor­ity in a large com­pany, om­pany, or b) hadn’t messed with me. In my own wn house.

Yep. Vil­lage idiot has in­fil­trated ed the sanc­tity of my home me and caused me noth­ing g but grief. And he’s done ne it through my kitchen. hen. My fridge, to be pre­cise. ecise.

See, about 10 years ago, whenen we first moved in­tonto our house and were about to buy our first grownup, ice-mak­ing fridge, it turned out the cav­ity de­signed for it was too nar­row blah, blah, blah. (Sorry, lost in­ter­est in my own ren­o­vatin ren­o­vat­ing story.) Ba­si­cally there were only t two mod­els that would fit – and the they were both madly ex­pen­sive. We went with the one the salesm sales­man rec­om­mended. It’s an Americ Amer­i­can com­pany, he said. Their frid fridges last for years. And we assu as­sured him it would have to, bec be­cause it cost the same as a se sec­ond-hand car. Of course, the icedisp dis­penser broke af­ter abou about six months. That was dis­ap­point­ing, but the fridge was plumbed in and still made ice, so we’d jus just scoop it out with our han hands when we wanted it. B But that wasn’t the proble prob­lem. No. The prob­lem was i in­side the fridge. Speci Specif­i­cally with the buffo buf­foon who de­signed its in in­te­rior. See, when you open the door, the top few s shelves in­side it are cove cov­ered by an­other clear plast plas­tic door – pre­sum­ably to st stop things fly­ing out as yo you open it. And yet, kno know­ing this ba­sic law of ph physics, they made the shel shelves in­side shal­low,

with no lip, so that any time you wrench the plas­tic-door-within-the-door to ac­cess THE STUFF YOU WANT TO USE, it falls out and shat­ters on the floor.

This is, at min­i­mum, a weekly oc­cur­rence. Mis­siles in­clude: jars of horse­rad­ish cream, mus­tard, jalapeños, ca­pers, pizza sauce, curry paste and pesto. As well as shat­ter­ing and spray­ing their con­tents all over the floor, they of­ten hit us on the foot. I have re­jigged the fridge, hop­ing heftier items will stay put, but

this just means I’ve also been splat­tered with yo­ghurt, cream, cot­tage cheese, chicken curry, bolog­nese, spanako­pita fill­ing and soup. More than once, I’ve had a kilo-block of Coon land on my foot.

So. I hate that guy. I’ve ac­tu­ally dreamt of hunt­ing him down at the May­tag fac­tory and invit­ing him over for din­ner so he can see his “one job” in ac­tion.then, when he ar­rives, I will pelt him with food and bash his foot with cans of food, like that de­mented chick out of Mis­ery.

Af­ter all, they say to keep your friends close, but your en­e­mies closer.

“I will pelt him with food like that de­mented chick out of Mis­ery”

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