I am in the best mood ever, and I haven't even been drinking! First, they closed my office at noon because of the impending snowstorm.
Second, my mom babysat this morning and she brought a baked ham with her. I'm terrified that one of these days she's going to fall in the street and all her little baked goods are going to roll out from under her and that people will laugh. Until then, bless her for feeding us.
Third, I got the most amazing gift from Juicy Alligator. He's the silliest eggplant man I've ever seen. I'm even more in love with him because he has a moustache. And he’s all mine! (I feel like I'm talking about one of the Golden Tickets from the Willy Wonka wrappers, but I can't help it.)
It's called the Edward Murphey Award; it's for any blogger who frequently finds that if anything can go wrong, it will. I’ve been running through the list of blogs I read and while plenty of them make me laugh, no one embodies Murphey’s law like my friend Jen.
Jen doesn’t blog but she should. In the 10 years we've been friends, Jen has:
• had her car stolen twice
• gotten into 11 car accidents
• had her identity stolen by the Russian mafia
• had her Facebook account hacked
• been forced to move from an apartment because the upstairs bathtub fell through the floor
• dumped a man who days later became a billionaire thanks to a dog toy he invented that sold, well, billions
• quit her job and sold her condo to see the world with her traveling nurse boyfriend only to catch him in the arms of another man (yes, man) weeks before departure
• been burned by a tanning bed bulb and begun litigation
• spent a year eating microwave popcorn for dinner, which enabled her to lose 20 pounds (losing weight is glorious, but not being able to poop sure isn't)
• asked to be moved away from a chatty co-worker only to be seated next to a compulsive whistler
I think that's it. Before you start feeling too bad for Jen, consider this: She is so good looking that one morning, her boss was trying so hard to catch her attention as he passed her on the highway—by waving, shouting, changing lanes—that he hit the car in front of him.
I'm not saying physical attractiveness trumps the mafia, but when you're the one responsible for 10 of your 11 car accidents and you only get one ticket—and it's a phony ticket containing the officer's phone number and an invitation to dinner—the sun is shining on you in all the right places.
But back to the eggplant man, I’m going to print him out and put him in a Christmas card for Jen. She needs all the help she can get. Especially since…drum roll…she just found out she’s pregnant.
I'm nervous for her.
Juicy Alligator, can we get a mini eggplant please? And maybe a horseshoe to go along with it.
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