My universe is delicately balanced. I walk a tightrope through life, hoping that my good karma cancels out my bad karma. Trusting that Even Steven is on the case 24/7.
You know that saying about how a single flap of a butterfly's wing might lead to a hurricane a hemisphere away? I think it was an Ashton Kutcher movie. But I'm taking a break from my BFF Google this evening, so I can't be more specific. Anyhoo...a little incident occurred here at the Mansion last night that made me think of it.
Perhaps I should say an incident didn't occur.
The Pony and I were all by our lonesome. Farmer H was off working a fundraiser at Busch Stadium, and the #1 son was working a Relay for Life event until 6:00 a.m. I told The Pony earlier in the day that we would order a pizza for supper. He prefers the cheesy breadsticks himself, but I was having pizza. The plan was to call it in between 5:00 and 5:30, and start to town as it was cooking.
I was selfishly fiddling about on the innerets, and time got away from me. At 5:30, I hollered out from my office that we were running a little late. The Pony declared that even though he was getting hungry, it was okay. He's so agreeable, that little imp.
I called in around 6:00, and the lady said it would take 35 minutes. Which is longer than usual. So The Pony and I watched a bit of Seinfeld on TBS before going to pick up the pizza. It was the Black and White Cookie episode, with the lesser babka, and George destroying the liquor store in his GoreTex coat. Not that the episode had anything to do with my convoluted butterfly story. I'm just enlightening all the other Seinfeld aficionados.
We made our trip to town and back. Picked up the pizza and breadsticks. Smooth sailing. No incidents that were even blogworthy. Until this morning.
I was reading the local paper online, and saw a headline about a high-speed chase. Seems that the police were after a shoplifter who left The Devil's Playground and headed north. She led law enforcement on a high-speed chase along six roadways, ending in a footrace into the woods.
Four of those roads enclose Hillmomba. The other two lead from The Devil's Playground. Three of them are roads The Pony and I travel every day. The chase started at 5:25 p.m. Throw-down nail strips were involved. And pursuit northbound in the southbound lane.
We dodged that bullet because of my dawdling.
Flap on, little butterfly.
Didn't they settle on the cinnamon babka--wasn't that the lesser babka?
ReplyDeleteWe're so glad you two dodged that bullet--figuratively as well as literally (possibly). What would happen to your frothing-at-the-mouth followers if you were unable to post?
I shudder at the thought...
Unfortunately, fate is a fickle finger. Not to make less of all that has happenend recently in regard to deaths domestic and abroad. I just don't have another explanation. All I DO know is that fate is fickle. Why do some die so young and why do some die so old and wish they had died younger without all the pain and suffering?
ReplyDeleteFate - same as genes, common sense, wrong place wrong time, or right place right time.
Handbasket weaving is revving up!
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteYes, they did. But it had a hair in it. So Elaine gave it back, and the bakery lady coughed all over the new one.
Well, if I missed a post, y'all might head off to a party to give The Drake (Love the Drake!) a big screen TV, or to buy a massage chair for Joe Mayo, even though he puts everybody to work at his parties. However, you might get lost, and run into Crazy Joe Davola, or get beheaded by The Lopper.
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knancy,
Yeah. Like when a young family is driving home from Chuck E. Cheese after a kid's birthday party, and a tree falls on their Volvo and crushes them. Wrong place. Wrong time.
I need to get crackin' on my handbasket factory.