So, clearly, someone is not happy with me.
Earlier this year, we got mice, yesterday was our water was cut off, today the dishwasher broke in the middle of a cycle, and then after I washed an entire load of dishes by hand, I blew a fuse -- not the fun cathartic kind of blowing a fuse where you write an entire blog entry about ways your husband annoys you, either.
No it was the kind of blowing your fuse where you're about halfway through making dinner and you find yourself in pitch darkness, save for the meager light from the lit gas rings under your pans. And then realizing you don't know where the fusebox is. And calling your husband to ask where it is, only to discover that the phone needs electricity to function (who knew?) and then opening up both the laptops (on battery power) so you can finish cooking by the light of their screens. Good times!
I say 'I' blew a fuse, but ackshully I'm not at all convinced. The following electric things were on: the uselessly dim 'eco' overhead lightbulb, the oven, the radio, the electronic mouse repeller (which may or may not be useless; too early to tell).
Does that sound like a lot? 'Cause I've definitely had all those things and more on at a time in my torrid, electricity-wasting past without a problem.
No, the answer to my domestic drama definitely lies beyond myself and my poor eco-management skills, beyond my husband and his abiding inability to rinse a damn plate, beyond the dodgy cowboy construction team down the road that burst our water main.
It came to me once the lights were back on and I was hitting the Greek (not a new boyfriend, the actual language. It's homework, you pervs). The answer is...HESTIA!
Yes, Hestia (also known as Vesta, of virgins fame, to those who prefer Latinny stuff) is key. I've clearly honked her off and she's paying me back in her own particular area of expertise. So, just like Obama is putting a ton of Republicans into key positions in the hope of softening 'em up, allow me to dedicate this entry to buttering up the goddess of domesticity.
Why is Hestia so kewl?
Well, first off, she is the only Olympian goddess on record as being nice. Her epithet is even 'gentle'. If you've ever read the story of, oh, say what Artemis did to Acteon, you'll understand that this makes her pretty special. Not in the South Park sense of 'special', let me clarify. Good special.
Yup, she's the kind of 'special' that wouldn't want to make my washing machine die tomorrow in a flood of suds that warps all our floors. She would definitely never make our microwave explode hurling pieces of glass and plastic deep into my kitchen walls. And I just know that she is far too nice to let our exceptionally antiquated heating system give up the ghost before the cold weather ends.
Also, Hestia is kewl because she represents both family and purity. Kind of like another famous holy virgin, Hestia is maternal and nurturing and protective and would never make our roof start leaking until the plaster falls in right over our bed at night while we're sleeping, crushing us both into pudding.
And Hestia is peaceful. She famously refused to marry either Poseidon or Appollo, because she didn't want to cause stress and strife on Mt Olympus. See, she likes a quiet life for herself and people who respect her. That's why I know she's not the kind of goddess to let a plague of giant carnivorous grasshoppers infest the walls of our humble, Hestia-respecting home.
Did I mention I love Hestia?
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