Such events as follows are occurring with increased and unwelcome frequency.
Evidence Log, Entry #1
It started out like any other shower routine. Being very aware of personal hygiene, I have a list of specific items inside the shower. Those items never leave, never move from within the shower. I may not use every single item every time, but unless the item is empty or past its lifespan and being replaced, those items must remain in place! Despite the perfection going on in and around my shower, imperfection manages to agonize me at the most inopportune times. He his known to most as Murphy, that sinister force from the familiar adage. He has never been a figment of my imagination. He is quite real and torments us all! For the aged, he is the Prince of Perverse and he has somehow removed my towel!
Evidence Log, Entry #2
It started out like any other bathroom routine. Your body tells you beyond any sort of confusion that it is time to relieve yourself soon. It will not be a quick trip, so you look forward to quality reading material. Over the years this chair-of-delight has become a tranquil happy time of intellectual stimulation. It is not to be rushed. For a man’s man like me, it is truly one of life’s simplest pleasures. As the end nears, you glance over to the tissue dispenser… and it sits empty; just cardboard. The Thief of Tissue has struck once again. To make matters less than dignifying, premeditation has placed the new rolls either across the expansive room in the cabinets opposite, or in a completely separate room where willing assistance must be hailed several times, putting one at a distinct disadvantage. Then I realize I am the only one in the house, thanks be to the fairies of embarrassment.
It started out like any other suit-and-tie engagement. The tables were set with several pieces of fine china and silverware with two different drinking glasses in front. The occasion was grande, but the temperature unusually warm. Of the hundreds of guest, you know only the bride or groom on a personal basis, and they are overly detained. To avoid being a prude you meet and chat with total strangers. After a few awkward moments you realize that in your haste to be on-time, you completely forgot to apply deodorant. Ahh, the Oger-of-Odor is unexpectedly making his entrance. Later the bride and groom ask guests where you’re hiding, and one answer is always the answer: “He is outside; the one with arms folded.“
It started out like any other trip to the store. You hear a yelp from the bathroom vanity. Because there is no time and she is undressed, your wife or girlfriend has asked you to run quickly and purchase eyeliner. But not just any eyeliner; velvet-black glide-on pencil eyeliner with an unrepeatable French name in the .05 oz length. Not the liquid kind with the Italian name, the glide-on pencil kind; not the cream, not eyeshadow, and it must be black, not midnight blue… and a can of condensed milk for the caramel flan. I’m already friggin stressed and I haven’t even walked out the door. God knows what my pulse will be inside the store. Murphy damn sure knows because I hear him laughing. After staring at the cosmetic display for 20-minutes paralyzed, I go find a Cosmopolitan. She can help me! And yes, I purposely called her that name. Before my face could turn blue from no breath, I list the U.N. conditions of this eyeliner that must be found and purchased. Through process of elimination, the patiently humored store-clerk rings me up. I am so relieved she helped and proud as a peacock that I am delivering exactly what she wanted! With a huge smile on my face and the suavest of suave walks, I give her the coveted prize. “Did you get the can of condensed milk?” Complete and utter deflation followed by several unrecognizable cuss-words. The Murphy-of-Makeup had bitten me again.
It started out like any other backup plan. Since I don’t need my credit or debit card while in the house, I thought why not just leave them in the car. That’s the only time I really need them with me: when I’m driving to spend money to go further in debt, or to get gas. The plan is wittingly put into action. One cold late Sunday evening, I am walking out the door to the car to attend a good friend’s birthday party. I’m excited about going. I will know most everyone there; a fun comfortable group where everyone has a great sense of humor. I quick-step-it to my car, reach into my pocket and find nothing. No car keys. I do an about-face, get to the front door… locked. That door key is on the key ring with the car keys. I am not only locked out of my car, I am also locked out of my house. The window I usually leave unlocked for exactly this reason is now locked because I forgot to unlock it weeks earlier when window-washing. With no other quick choices available to avoid missing the entire party forty-minutes away, I call an after-hours locksmith, to go further in debt. Describing my situation and location, the dispatcher mentions he needs a credit card over the phone to guarantee against a cancelled trip out. Under my breath come familiar unrecognizable cuss-words. “Excuse me?” says the dispatcher. I apologize to him and humbly admit where my wittingly placed credit/debit card is located. He chuckled. The Criminals-of-Cards-n-Keys had struck again.
It started out like any other conversation in the car. The weekend road trip would take us to a much-needed retreat about 80-miles west of hectic DFW. We had plenty of time to talk about anything. The trip had basically two turns, off of and onto two different highways. That’s it! My then girlfriend and I had no difficulties whatsoever talking about anything and everything under the Sun or Moon. When we disagreed, it inevitably made us laugh. It was one of those relationships that never seemed to have an ending. But then it did; in several different unsuspecting ways. She noticed the sign we just passed had said “Thackerville, Oklahoma 21 miles.” I asked her, isn’t Wizard Wells (the name of the retreat) in Texas? Bursting into laughter, we realized our turn west was over 60-miles behind us. I thought you were navigating!? Comically astounded she fired back, “I thought you were driving!?” We knew all too well both of us could not talk and drive at the same time. The two of us did not belong in the same car: trouble. The Devil-of-Directions had committed a double-homicide, again!
It started out like any other little league baseball tournament with my son. Group play of two or three games, then the playoff round in the evening with the championship tomorrow. It is a full-day and weekend at the sports complex. Like most good pro-experienced fathers we want to impart to our sons our vast knowledge of the game and life. Those coaching tips are very important. I have absolutely no experience of playing baseball to speak of but the tips should be given with the least amount of interruption, even when needing to go to the bathroom between games. We trot over to the Men’s side of the building and belly up to the Little Man’s and Big Man’s urinals. As we stand there, I tell my son how quick he must think and how quick he must move and throw in certain game situations. He listens keenly filling his urinal with the voraciousness of Niagara Falls! Mine, on the other hand, is silent. My son finishes, zips his pants, rebuckles his belt, and stands there listening to my wisdom. Meanwhile, my urinal FINALLY starts to sound like a dainty Victorian tea-party with tiny cups. He really wants to get back out to the diamond. I see it in his face. I hear it in the tapping of his cleats as well as the here-and-gone-oh-here trickle in my urinal. I think we’re both thinking the same thing. The words, do as I say not as I do come to mind, but it seemed too blatant, too common. It probably wouldn’t achieve the correct lesson. Humbled, I paused a moment for my own wisdom and my not-so-quick plumbing… “Go ahead son, I’ll catch-up” …knowing full well I never would. The Poacher-of-Peeing was pillaging and caught me again damn it!
It started out like any other steamy erotic bedroom scene. Hah! Are you kidding? You think I’m going to share those
embarrassing moments!? I’m aging, but not foolish…
It has become increasingly clear, no… let me rephrase that to reflect reality. I need a reminder-list to find my To Do list. I need a damn checklist for all the lists and reminders for reminders! Murphy’s diabolical ominous horizon is no longer “out there.” It’s here! I am no longer Ringmaster of my circus. The ever jovial Murphy has usurped my throne. He has taken my kingdom and my sword and replaced them with Geritol, Metamucil, and a walker.
Release clause: Sorry, for now that’s an exaggeration, but frustratingly less untrue.
No, Murphy-time is not on the horizon lurking, he’s HERE today. He isn’t in the distance or knocking anymore, he has found the hidden key and made himself at home! He is a persistent mad-man. And even though I have brilliantly perfected counter-measures of reverse psychology, like losing or forgetting to put on my pants, or putting on different colored socks, I can’t seem to shake Murphy like I use to or as much. He has become less a figment and more a nimble gnat I swat from my ears and nostrils.
I seem to have misplaced my Anti-Murphy repellant, again. My bifocals — check to see if they’re on or off my head — can’t seem to find the right horizon either, nor the damn wall in front of me.
Please, if anyone cares to join my circus, your own self-incriminating comments below are indeed welcomed!
Live Well — Love Much — Laugh Often — Learn Always
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