Moved into a new rented property this weekend. Just me and DS (4).
It’s been hell, juggling pressure at work, move, pandemic, recruitment process for new job (didn’t get it) & the usual single mum shit.
Tonight I found out the oven in my new house doesn’t get any hotter than “a temperate breeze” and the hob doesn’t work at all. It’s not me. I’ve checked it’s switched on. I’ve checked the fuse box. I’ve fiddled and twiddled. It’s fucked.
I could scream.
Checked the oven turned on when I did the check in, obviously, but didn’t go further than that. Idiot.
Emailed agent but not sure if they’ll be able to sort by Christmas.
Don’t own a microwave or anything other than a toaster to “cook” with, so poor DS went to bed with toast, fruit and a bowl of cereal (not the end of the world I know, but it’s bloody Christmas).
Can I have a cry without being considered an utter soft head?