atomicwatch

You’d think buying a watch is simple. You choose one. You wear it. It tells the time. Job done.

Nope.

Instead, it’s a full-scale psychological assault. Amazon probably thinks I’m running a black-market watch dealership by now with the amount I’ve sent back.

All I wanted was a watch that:

Tells the time

Tells the date

Has a big face so I can see it

Doesn’t require a PhD in Chronology to set it up

Instead, I got:

⏰ Knobs that have a life of their own, turning randomly like a possessed ouija board.

⏰ Buttons that demand fingers with precision I no longer have, thanks to numb hands that make the simplest task feel like I’m defusing a bomb underwater while blindfolded.

In the end, I went atomic. Or “atomik”, as I now call it to sound edgy and slightly deranged.

This atomic watch apparently speaks the time and date. Brilliant, I thought. It arrived, promising “easy setup” in the advert. 😂 Easy setup my arse. It took Albertine several hours of cursing to set up. She’s my go-to tech guru when life’s gadgets decide to humiliate me, and even she looked ready to launch it out the window.

I just sat there, numb hands useless, staring at it and laughing like a lunatic while she pressed random buttons in despair.

But hey, it works now. It talks to me. It’s large enough to see. And it hasn’t tried to kill me in my sleep yet. So it’s a win. Kind of.

           “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                     By storm and silence, I survive.”

     “The views in this post are based on my personal
      experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.” 

🧌✨ @goblinbloggeruk ✨🧌