Somehow, they know

I swear they know their time is running out. Must be all the brochures & magazines I've been bringing home. We are going to try and find good homes for them, not just dump them, but they've staged a protest anyway.
At first it was nothing drastic; nothing serious enough to warrant replacement, just little things: bushings, belts, fans - just enough to force us to call in a repairman, take a day off work. OK,I'll admit that part's not so bad, an extra studio day, but I could do without the writing-a-cheque part.
It was well-organized: started with the dryer; exactly 2 weeks later the freezer; another 2 weeks and the washing machine took it's turn. Then just when we thought they'd made their point, the dryer took another turn. They even got our toilet on their side, acting up for weeks before flooding the bathroom and needing it's internals replaced.
Now, like so many protests, it's gotten out of hand and there's been a fatality. Even though the little guy was coming with us to our new home, my studio convection oven, trying to show solidarity with the big guys, has kicked the bucket. Now all I hear is the little tick-tick of his timer, no more fan, no more heat. What a pain, right in the middle of curing a batch of beads so I couldn't tell if they'd reached the proper temperature for long enough before the oven died.
I'll have to run upstairs to use my kitchen oven now, although when I mentioned this to Kim he said no, get a new one. He can't stand the smell of polymer clay curing and thinks that because something smells bad, it's toxic. (Ha, if that were true we'd all be running for cover every time someone farted.) He's stuffed up with a bad cold so I'm safe for now, re-baked those beads today & he didn't even notice.