Can you see fit to send some sympathy Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's way tonight? She has endured a two-day visit from Mr. Murphy. No. He's not related to Aunt Flo. He's not the heir to a flush toilet fortune. Nor the inventor of a bed that folds up into the wall. He's the law Murphy. The one who postulates that whatever can go wrong WILL go wrong.
The most recent prophecy fulfilled concerns Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's supper of a homemade chicken fajita fat burrito. Uh huh. I gathered my ingredients. Laid out foil to wrap my delicious monstrosity. Warmed the tortilla. Chunked up the chicken. Shook on the shredded lettuce. Used a cheese grater on the sharp cheddar, without even losing a millimeter of finger flesh. Spooned generously the mild salsa. Dolloped on the sour cream. Wrapped that fat log in foil to decrease dripping. AND SAW THAT I HAD LEFT OFF THE DICED ONION! Oh, the inhumanity! Nancy Kerrigan herself could not have topped Mrs. Hillbillly Mom's whine of "WHYYYYYYYY?"
I had to put my diced onion in a little bowl to apply with a spoon to each bite. That's a lesser chicken fajita fat burrito right there.
The Pony also endured Mrs. Hillbilly (his) Mom's Murphy wrath. He needed a trimming of The Sideburn. He did so himself, with his shaver, but there was a swatch of hair growing down in front of his ears that he said the shaver wouldn't trim. So I reached for my trusty black-handled fake Fiskars. And came up as empty as Old Mother Hubbard's dog. The #1 son was here over Christmas, you see. And in the last day of his break, when he was no longer deathly ill with a meningitis-mocking headache and stiff neck virus...he felt like working with his photography sometimes-paying hobby. My fake Fiskars are but a gleam in #1's eye.
The Pony ran to fetch the next best thing, a pair of blue-handled fake fake Fiskars. I cut those uneven hairburns to make him presentable. He was going to meet his paramour for an evening of laser tag to celebrate his birthday tomorrow. Alas, only one of his regular friends could go, what with the short notice, the frigid weather, the upcoming snowstorm, weekends with non-custodial parents, and this being Valentine's Day, and one of the friends having his own paramour who had other designs on his time. Do you think The Pony gave a fat rodent's behind? NOT-HEAVEN NO! He was going to meet his paramour. With a tidy little gift bag of Valentine treats that he did not care to share with moi. Our little Pony is growing up.
I would love to regale you with tales of my other Murphyisms. Like how every time I put the diced onion on my chicken fajita fat burrito, it bounces off the top and drops to the counter of my dark basement lair built-in corner desk and then bounces again to the floor, and how I arrived at the mailbox at the same time a guy parked on the wrong side of the road in front of Mailbox Row and proceeded to fetch a package from the package lock-box. And how Mrs. Hillbilly Mom herself had trouble with said box last night. And how as soon as that guy took his package and left, a neighbor pulled up to get her mail, so Mrs. HM had to wait some more, and how all this and a trip to town put her lunch off until 3:00, the lunch she is used to consuming at 10:53 a.m., and how she did not even have a carload of guys to give her a Snickers bar. However, I have no time.
A chicken fajita fat burrito is calling my name.