We are nothing if not inventive in this house. A few days ago, my OTL, in a fit of rage*, broke the French press. Faced with the prospect of not having a cup of coffee, he fell to his knees in despair, raised his hands to the Goddess above and cried, "WHAT am I to do? HOW shall I go on?"**
Ever good in a crisis, I galloped in on my horse, brandished my sword and said, "Cease ye crying! Go forth, brave sir, and find me a fagot!"***
And he did.****
*Okay, so he accidentally knocked it into the sink, but where is the drama in that version?
**Technically, it was a little more prosaic, something along the lines of, "Oh, for Pete's sake."
***That bit is all true.
****Luckily he could only find one stick because a bundle of them would have been overkill, no?