If I Didn't Have Bad Luck, I'd Have No Luck At All ...
Did I walk under a ladder without realising it? Did I break a mirror? I won't ask if a black cat has crossed my path because there are those in England who believe that a black cat is a sign of good luck instead of bad, and I'll go with that one if I'm allowed to pick and choose.
Yesterday I actually managed to lock myself in my own shop. I don't like leaving the door unlocked when I go into the back when nature calls, so I locked it. Then I couldn't unlock it. I tried. And tried. And tried. I tried so hard I ended up rubbing one of my fingers raw where I'd cut it on a candle mould the night before. I shook the door, pushed it, pulled it and kicked it. Since I have PMT, I almost tried putting my foot through it, but I refrained.
Finally I rang David in the shop next door and asked him if he could come round. I passed my keys through the letterbox, and within two minutes I was free. But how embarrassing was that?
It got worse. Simon had told me that his car needed diesel before I left for work, but I was running late, saw that the gauge was showing there was some diesel left, and decided to stop on the way home. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next. Simon wasn't impressed when he brought me some diesel so I could get to the petrol station.
I thought today might be better. I thought wrong. I tried to go to the university library to do some studying, but before I got halfway there, I noticed the temperature gauge was in the red. It didn't go down either. I headed for the nearest petrol station I knew of and rang Simon to ask, "Did you put water in my car like you said you were going to?" What was his reponse? "Oh shit, I forgot". He can stop teasing me about running out of diesel now. I put some in but it still acted like it had air trapped in the system, so I came home.
I'm seriously considering going back to bed to hide under the quilt.
Yesterday I actually managed to lock myself in my own shop. I don't like leaving the door unlocked when I go into the back when nature calls, so I locked it. Then I couldn't unlock it. I tried. And tried. And tried. I tried so hard I ended up rubbing one of my fingers raw where I'd cut it on a candle mould the night before. I shook the door, pushed it, pulled it and kicked it. Since I have PMT, I almost tried putting my foot through it, but I refrained.
Finally I rang David in the shop next door and asked him if he could come round. I passed my keys through the letterbox, and within two minutes I was free. But how embarrassing was that?
It got worse. Simon had told me that his car needed diesel before I left for work, but I was running late, saw that the gauge was showing there was some diesel left, and decided to stop on the way home. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened next. Simon wasn't impressed when he brought me some diesel so I could get to the petrol station.
I thought today might be better. I thought wrong. I tried to go to the university library to do some studying, but before I got halfway there, I noticed the temperature gauge was in the red. It didn't go down either. I headed for the nearest petrol station I knew of and rang Simon to ask, "Did you put water in my car like you said you were going to?" What was his reponse? "Oh shit, I forgot". He can stop teasing me about running out of diesel now. I put some in but it still acted like it had air trapped in the system, so I came home.
I'm seriously considering going back to bed to hide under the quilt.
posted by Melinda at 1/16/2005 06:41:00 pm
4 Comments:
Here's hoping that you have a better run of luck tomorrow. :)
Thanks for that! If not, I will definitely be hiding away somewhere safe! LOL
I shouldn't've laughed when I read about the diesel, but I did. I apologize. It was like this: LOL "Poor Mel!"
Stay away from my house if you think black cats are bad luck. My mum's cat, Pickles—sometimes affectionately known as "little shit," or "Piccadilly," or "Prickly-poo," or any number of other such terms—is a black Maine Coon. He's a long-haired kitty.
Yeah, Simon was laughing at me too when he came to bring me some on the side of the road, but he was trying to pretend he didn't find it funny.
I like black cats, so I prefer to think of them as good luck. We have a friendly one next door who crawls through my kitchen window during the summer, and my mum used to have a giant panther-like black male named "Caesar" who was the biggest chicken you could ever meet.
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