Camera hospital

I put my baby into hospital today. My Canon, my dear, beloved Canon, has been playing up now for some time, and today it wouldn’t even take a photo, just the continual blinking BUSY signal.

BUSY. BUSY. BUSY.

So I drive to Canon hills (love the irony) and meanwhile phone the place of purchase, to see if they have a record of payment, as I don’t have anything to prove date of purchase.

To cut a long story short, the warranty ran out yesterday.

Yesterday!

Ffs!

Canon assure me they will fix it, and quote a waiting time of “4 – 6 weeks” repair time.

My mind fast-forwards to my Golf Day, my Cairns trip, taking my mother overseas to New Zealand, and my son’s Graduation. It’s like a bad dream. I need my camera!

What choice do I have, but to get it fixed, so I book it in, and walking out of the plush, gorgeous new building, turn around as if to wave goodbye.

My face crumples by the time I reach the car, and to my horror I sob like a baby. I can’t believe my own reaction, after all, “it’s just a camera”, and I angle the mirror to stare at my face.

I look like crumpled tissue with a smear of red lippy, and for a while I almost don’t recognise myself.

I can hear the noise of my sobbing, and am overcome with helplessness. I miss my camera already, and I am still sitting in the car park sobbing, when I ring hubby.

His voice is full of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my camera! I love my camera!” I wail, rousing on myself for being such a child.

Eventually I calm down, and drive off, face still contorted, tissues wiping my tears, reminding myself to take deep breaths as I drive off.

I want my camera back, and I want it back now!