Mama, something smells like stink today?

I have never been one to really put much stock in luck, karma, and the like. What happens...happens! For a reason? Not likely. I am not one to worry about much, and rarely think that life is really out to get me.

Recently I was remembering an event several weeks ago when I was sitting in an outpatient recovery room waiting for my husband to wake up from his "mild sedation" after a routine medical procedure. After an hour of waiting (when they assured me, his very hungry/pregnant wife, that he would be alert and ready to go in less than 30 minutes), the monitor that had been politely beeping along with his heart rate and other vitals suddenly started a loud continuous beep and his heart rate, according to the monitor, had over tripled. Did I worry? Nah! I sat there for several seconds, assuming the machine would reset itself or his nurse would come in. I did at least reach out to grab his wrist -- it wasn't cold nor was his pulse racing. He's fine. Back to my book. After another minute of the beeping, I did finally decide to at least play the part of concerned wife and go look for his nurse. By the time I got to the door, another nurse came to see what all the ruckus was about, and while she fiddled with the machine to see what the trouble was, it dawned on me for the first time that maybe something could really be wrong. Had we not already killed the neighbor's dog with our evil desires just a few months prior? Maybe justice was now being served -- the dog dies under routine anesthesia, now your husband must to. Thankfully, I did not have much time to entertain these bleak notions because the nurse had the machine reset quite quickly. See? Just a machine error. I told you there was nothing to worry about.

Since that day though, there has been enough pithy occurrences in our day to day lives to make a girl start to questions her strong defense of logic when her husband insists that life is out to get you -- don't f*ck with it. Things that have always functioned as anticipated have ceased to do so in the recent past, so much so, that when we went to plant our garden this spring, I insisted we plant a sweet pepper plant in spite of never having had any luck with these peppers in the past just because I feared that we might mess with our garden mojo were a defunct pepper plant not part of the mix. (And, sure enough, one of the 2 pepper plants is limp and dwarfed, but the tomatoes, onions, other pepper, and carrots are growing like wild beasts!)

With hopefully just 4 weeks of pregnancy to go, my tolerance for anything other than popsicles and my batman pillow is thin to non-existent, and I have little patience for the unexpected. So when a parking citation dated from February 28, 2007 showed up (for the first time) in the mail today, followed quickly by an email from Ebay that confirmed my prior fear that I have likely been screwed on a fairly sizeable purchase, I threw my hands to heavens and surrendered. Today's occurrences are pithy, but the camel's back has officially been broken. The next time you see me, I'll likely be adorned with a wreath of garlic, rabbits' foots in both pockets, and pennies in my loafers. If luck be a lady -- she's certainly a bitch.

Update: The parking ticket has turned out to be less random than I thought. Now its more of "Why does my husband not tell me these things?" kind of issue. Sigh! But two legs still fell off the kitchen table yesterday, and "Maintenance Required" Light came on in my vehicle -- so I'm still ordering every amulet or talisman I can fit on a gold chain before I show up at the hospital in a few weeks only for them to apologize for not seeing that 2nd baby in there on all of those ultrasounds.