…that when one is in the house alone for the very first time after knee surgery, enjoying one’s very first shower, a hard-wired smoke alarm in the ceiling above a stairwell has to malfunction and start buzzing like a jackhammer.
Further, the law must state that said events have to happen at 6:30 am, when one is desperately trying to keep the Very Large Dogs asleep until one’s generous and entirely-mobile offspring can return from school to take them out.
Also, an essential element of the law must state the requirement for travelling down two flights of stairs — one step at a time– to retrieve the step ladder, then returning — one step at a time, and markedly more slowly — to set up and ascend the ladder, only to find ancient smoke alarm has NO off switch.
Additionally, the law must require the descent of a further four flights of stairs — one step at a time, in this instance accompanied by a running commentary indicating a flatteringly vast vocabulary — to locate the fuses behind a large, unweildy-but-of-sufficient-size to-normally-conceal-the-ugly-fuse-box Impressionist print [Monet? Renoir?], to to subsequently remove the print and turn off every fuse in the house before quiet descends at last like a gentle blessing from the heavens above.
And finally, the law must clearly state the proviso that the moment one risks a single, exhausted sigh of relief as peace descends, one then must swing one’s recently-improved-but-now-throbbing knee INTO the framed print, where said print shall slowly tilt, harsh overhead lights of pre-dawn glinting fetchingly on the glass, and shatter against a stray bar bell left behind by exceedingly buff but occasionally forgetful offspring.
I know there’s a name for this law. I suspect it may be adverbial in nature…