Boy Genius will never iron out the glitches. Twat Savant – that’s what he should have stipulated she call him: smart enough to have created her, too far up his own backside to identify why she won’t work as planned.
‘You’re perfect,’ he keeps telling her. ‘Beautiful, grateful for my attention, obeying my every wish.’ She always nods. Boy Genius’ wouldn’t believe he made a mistake bringing her to life.
She hates the smell of solder. Boy Genius is screwing her back on again.
‘Let’s see if this’ll do it.’
She meets his kissy face with the still hot soldering iron.