Murphy's Law

Excuse me, but who exactly is Murphy and when did dumb-ass shit that happens to me become applicable to his "law"? Is it mere coincidence that the exact thing you do NOT want to happen will become reality on any given day? I doubt it. Thanks, Murphy. You crazy douche bag, you!!

It is Murphy's Law that when I wear my little tennis skirt (not that I would even attempt to pick up a racket. It is sheerly to be fashionable at the gym) with the hot pink tiny booty shorts underneath I will be summoned onto the fitness "stage" with my instructor, Heather. During hip hop class. For the gyrating, Super Booty Pop routine. My hot pink spanks were hypnotizing/nauseating a crowd of about 40 moms trying not to barf up their Propel Fitness Water. I am so sorry.

It is also Murphy's Law that I will have to go pee when I am 10 miles into a 35-mile ride. I am not stopping to cop a squat in a cornfield so I will not think of waterfalls and trickling water for the next two hours. My kingdom for a damn Port-A-Potty!

It is Murphy's Law that when I bend over to reach the cases of Mountain Dew I so lovingly picked up for my husband's XBox Extravaganza Night from my shopping cart, I will have massive regret for wearing my super-low rise jeans. I have exposed my crack to many people, two of which happen to be parents I know from dance. The ONE night I don't grocery shop in my mom jeans...

It is Murphy's Law that when you are doing some pre-holiday shopping with your kids, the one gift they really want this year happens to be on sale. And there is only one left in all of Illinois. But your daughter is officially past the age when you can hide the massive shopping bag under your purse. Sonofabitch.

It is Murphy's Law that when you finally bite the bullet and decide to see a kid's movie on an opening weekend, you will sit directly next to the horniest high school goth couple you have ever seen. The chubby girl is enamored with her 90-pound love muffin in Spandex women's Guess skinny jeans. They are sucking face every time the screen gets dark. Then they are ramming their hands in between each other's legs. The slobbery kisses almost sound like the mating call of a drunk porpoise. You thank God the movie is short. The goth couple bolt out of the theater as soon as the lights go on to undoubtedly crank and skank in his 1994 Geo Prism. Clean up in aisle 7!!!

It is clearly Murphy's Law that your child will have held their bladder and done the potty dance for 20 minutes until they have to go bad enough to use the Port-A-John at the park. Upon opening the plastic door in the 98 degree mid-day heat, you quickly are overcome by the most vile and nauseating aroma. The person to last use this shitbox managed to excrete every bodily fluid known to man. By the looks of it they might have even brought some extra baggies of someone else's vomit, blood, dookie, and man spunk to douse the walls. Your child backs up and actually chooses pissing herself in lieu of entering the Excrement House of Horrors. I do not blame her. I think every Port-A-Potty I have ever used has a varying degree of this nastiness. Just because it doesn't flush doesn't mean you should have no shame, people. At least AIM for the bluish perfumed water you dillweed.

I hate that damn Murphy......