Albert H., MSc, PhD, is a man of order and dignity. Every morning he wakes at 5:15, perfect hair, prime career and socks organised alphabetically by colour – a beacon of meticulousness for his woefully imperfect surroundings.
On the infamous Wednesday, 13 April, Albert’s alarm clock failed him. He woke at 6:58, hit his little toe on the chest of drawers with surgical precision. After frantic drive, he arrived at a crucial meeting with a blood pressure of 160/110. Spilled his spresso all over his shirt and opened his totally dead laptop. After work, he followed his wife’s instruction to the letter: “Buy butter, and if they have bread rolls, take ten.” They had rolls, so naturally, he bought ten blocks of butter. Then he dropped his wife’s silk suits off at the laundromat instead of the dry cleaner’s.
Around 9pm, Albert sits on the living room floor, the coffee stain joined by ketchup from dinner (“Hand it over, I’ll open it”). Albert stares blankly into space and suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Thank God, he can finally be normal. And when does he intend to become the epitome of perfection again? Well… when hell freezes over.
