- When the smoke alarm goes off at 5 in the morning because I have to change the batteries for the THIRD TIME in less than a year. This is not normal, right?
- When the smoke alarm is too high to reach, even when I stand on a chair.
- When I fall off that chair, and acquire a bruise that has lasted over 1 week and makes me look like TRAILER TRASH.
- When I make myself a casual bacon and blueberry pancake-for-one breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning and set off the M-F smoke alarm that I STILL CAN'T REACH AND WAVING A BROOM DOESN'T HELP EITHER AND I'M REALLY SORRY, NEIGHBORS, BUT YOU SHOULD GET SOME EARPLUGS.
- Fuck smoke alarms*, for real.
- When it suddenly becomes 97 degrees in Boston and I can't put my air conditioner in on my own without killing myself and/or whomever may be standing below my window, most likely one of the drunk homeless people who spend all day smoking cigarettes in my courtyard.
- Basically whenever I have to reach or lift things.
- After I get off the phone with AT&T "customer support" and sink into a deep, rage-filled depression.
- And, of course, all those times I'm feeling wicked sexy:
*Editor's note: In college, I owned a cell phone that required me to name all my alarms. In other words, whenever my alarm went off, a message also appeared on the screen. I'll never forget the time I went on vacation with my friend's family and her dad woke up to my phone ringing and flashing the words "FUCK ALARMS".