The other day, I grabbed the breast pump my MIL bought me and decided to disassemble and wash it. I pulled out the directions as to how to clean it, and broke it down into pieces — or at least, I tried to. The handle part is attached to some blue cup thingie, and to get the blue cup thingie detached, you have to turn it counter-clockwise and match up the dot on the blue cup with the centre of the handle.
So I’m trying to do this. And I can’t get the damned thing to turn far enough to get the dot anywhere near the handle, nevermind the centre of the handle. I started cursing at it (Maia was asleep!) and finally just threw it aside to let Chris handle later, before my brain exploded.
When Chris got home, he read the instructions and tried to follow them. He couldn’t get the blue cup thingie to come off, either.
So he paused. He looked at it. He looked at me. He looked at it again. And then he turned it once more, smoothly, and the blue cap came off. “Oh,” he said.
“How did you do that?” I asked.
“I turned it counter-clockwise.”
We had both been turning it clockwise.
We’re fucking GENIUSES in this house.