Murphy’s Law states that whatever can go wrong will go wrong.
I am the spokes-girl for Murphy’s Law.
No. Really, I am. I am your bona-fide, Chronically Accident Prone (CAP) girl. If I was wrapped in a box and put on the shelf, there would be a huge label – - WARNING: May cause permanent damage. I am the girl that falls up the stairs as well as down. I walk into marble pillars as clear as daylight. I make the last payment on my vehicle only to have it totaled the very next day. You can find me trapped in three different elevators in three different buildings in the same month, or stuck in an MRI machine during a power outage (because why would the generator kick on, right?).
Unfortunately, my CAP-ness occasionally invades lives of other innocent, unsuspecting people.
One time this happened at the local YMCA. I was running on the treadmill, and somehow managed to get all tangled up in the cord of my iPod. While attempting to unravel myself, the iPod suddenly flailed over the top of me and clocked some passerby in the head! Wide-eyed, I turned to ask if he was okay. This turned out not so brilliant, since, you know, I was still on the treadmill.
So, not only does the guy get ambushed by a flying iPod, he then gets mowed down by yours truly. I don’t mean for these things to happen. They just do. Seriously, the more poise I try to be, all the more damage ensues, and if there is a chance, even a 1/100,000,000th chance that something will go wrong in a random situation? Oh, you better believe it will. To be around me, you need a four leaf clover, horse shoe, and a constant supply of salt to throw over your shoulder.
“Maybe we should just wrap you in bubble-wrap?” suggested a friend.
My inane ability to attract misfortune swells to epic proportions when I am around someone I like. In high school, my friend Tiffany threw a huge party. A bunch of us were outside, including this kid I had a major crush on. The last few days had been pretty rainy, so the grass was wet and muddy. During a game of partner tag, (Yes, I did just admit to playing partner tag in high school. When you are done making fun, you can continue reading.), I found out the hard way that my shoes lacked traction on slippery ground.
Running away from the current tagger, I decided to be bold and go for the hand of my crush. Only, when I tried to stop, I slid. By that, I mean I wooshed past the boy, several others, and slammed right into a tree. After impact, I fell backwards and landed in a pile of dog poop. Needless to say, the boy I liked never spoke to me after that night.
Que sera sera, right?
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