Jinxed

I’m totally jinxed.

It’s been proven; so really, now my only reason consideration is just how far into my life this is going to go.

Take men, for example. I meet one, marry him, and he’s crazy. (There are some rumors circulating that I made him crazy, but if you’d met his family, you’d realize this is strictly Par For The Course with his genes, but still, angel though I may be, I’m sure I wasn’t, ahem, perfect). I take a break, after a fistful of horrendous first dates (charming annecdotes I pull out at parties when wives start giving me the Evil Eyed Stare, lest they assume I’m after their beloveds) only to find that when I’m not looking? I meet someone.

He’s funny, and charming; he’s great with my little guy, teaches him how to nail golf balls off my fabulous deck, adored my danes, and even allowed them to sit on his in his Dry Clean Onlies. We date, exclusively, only to find that yes, he doesn’t love me. I could go in for all the gory detail, but as I’d rather draw a veil under much of those conversations, (ending in the return of my Rooster - the Holy Grail of our relationship, as it were) we’ll simply forge ahead.

Some idiot tells me that time heals all wounds; life is only just beginning!

Total rubbish. I meet someone, totally innocently (yes, this would be Mr. Knight in Shining Wrinkly Scrubs) ….eyes that twinkle, a devilish laugh…within weeks of meeting me, he’s laid off, and then, the coup de gras - he’s commissioned to IRAQ. Deep breath. Not the end of the world; he still wants to hang out and stuff, and well, he says he thinks I’m a cutie - but seriously? IRAQ? I don’t do bugs, which is immaterial really, since they don’t allow visits (not that I’m signing up to go there) and he’s not back until next November. I recover, slightly, figuring I’ve time to get in a few dates before he ships out (or whatever it is that you call it)

Which is when I blow up my car (yes, I blew the entire engine apart, dropped the transmissions), killed a cell phone, and if you’ve been keeping up at all? You already know the whole host of things I’ve managed to murder in the short month of July. Vacuums. Small appliances. My bathroom drain first showed signs of slowing down; this morning, it refuses to drain altogether. Toothpaste suds and soapy bits are still floating in there unattended, which makes me rather nervous. Unattended Floaties make it quite tough to force upon said drain high octane drain cleaner. Not sure if it mixing them together will create that poisonious smoke that might kill me.

I don’t really want to me found dead on my bathroom floor. Even though I am looking lovely having dropped 15 pounds. I’m on the Stressed Out No Sex diet; it leaves me totally not hungry at all - though schlepping round at football may also have contributed. Sure, I’d look good in the coffin (if I found someone to tame the Really Pissy Hair I’ve been sporting) but I’d rather go out with some elan - not having succombed to noxious fumes of my own making.

Plus also? Pucker (the little bitch) ate one of my favorite shoes - the hot pink patent leather ones wtih the big bows over the toes? With the peep-toe? SOOOOO cutie! Well. Not anymore. She’s rather torn through the side of the heel, ate the buckle off the strappy thing on the ankle (which came out surprisingly how it went in - though, er, chocolate covered) and demolished the cutie bow on the top. I’m incensed. Those were my lucky shoes. My favorite shoes!!

So here it is, the end of September, and I give up: I’ve replaced all the necessary but broken bits and bobs of my life: I’m only wearing the Uglier Shoes, as those will be the ones with the most enticing aroma’s for the puppy, I’m barely driving, especially on crappy weather days when I might destroy something, and men?

Well. I daren’t go near any now, shall I?

We’ve enough unemployed people as it is. I shouldn’t add to that list.

See. I TOLD you I was jinxed.