Almost pretty lucky

My life is generally pretty lucky, I’m the person who wins those random magazine competitions, get my phone returned to me even when I leave it on a shelf in pick ‘n pay and I’m often in the right place at the right time. But I think my lucky fish existence has had a bit of a spanner thrown in the works. Something in the universe is wrong. All of a sudden I’m getting parking tickets, I can’t find both socks, I burn popcorn and recently I sat on a GHD.

This last one struck my lucky ego quite hard. I love my GHD. and in a normal universe it loves me back.

This magnificent device tames even the wildest hair with its sheer brilliant mechanics and shiny exterior, this baby heats up to a whopping 220 degrees. It gives control to busy and stressed out women all around the world, every day. What is not to love?

But I sat on it. It obviously hates me and the universe is not a fan of mine. I had just come out of the shower and I didn’t see the bugger lying pleasantly on my bed before I sat my bare butt down on its scorching metal parts. I screamed bloody murder before checking to see the two gloating lines that formed across both butt cheeks. What a way to start the week.

The lines have progressively welted, scabbed and bruised. With every explanation as to why I prefer to remain standing, every dab of ointment and every snigger of my misfortune my ‘lucky ego’ welts scabs and bruises too.

Apparently according to my sibling sources I am being a touch too dramatic about my soon to be butt scars and my declining Luck ego.

So in light of her genuine annoyance concern she has made me “set the universe right” by finding other uses for my GHD. I don’t know how that would work but at the time it seemed rather brilliant.

This is what I got:

1)      It straightens or curls your hair

2)      It makes a great door stop

3)      It’s a nice shoe stretcher

4)      Iron’s out the wrinkles in your clothes

That’s it. That’s all I got to.

It didn’t make me feel better at all.

Screw the universe, maybe I was destined for 7 years of bad luck, looking out for ladders and black cats and never being given my lost stuff back again!

Sigh... then I found R200 in my jeans and I forgot about it.

The Grump Zombie

My day started like the way many fairy tales do: happily.

I woke up this morning in the most comfortable slant where my pillow was moulded just right and my blanket hugged my body in a cool non creepy way. My brain replayed scenes from my adventurous dream while the air floated happily around me summoning me to consciousness.

 In every possible way this was me waking up on the right side of the bed. It was one of those days where my hair and I were friends and I kept the first outfit I tried on.

And then I was bitten (metaphorically of course) by the grump zombie. My sister.

Grump Zombies didn’t decide to become monsters, it just happens when they are bitten by another zombie. She turned over night it seems. She had a crap night, crap dreams, woke up in a crap position with her socks sliding off her feet and BAM! She turned into the grump that would make other happy peoples days turn into one big bad mood.

The theory of the grump zombie is more of a cycle than an irritable take over, it’s basically the movement of grumpiness from person to person. Grumpiness is a package that gets passed around, the only way to get rid of your grump zombie that takes over your power to resist an eye roll is to pass it on and make some happy person around you your victim. This morning it was me.

I was the bitten this morning over untouched dirty dishes that were made the night before.I repeat, the night before.  I made the mistake of not backing down when I should have. The grump set in.

 Once I  turned,  I  later I bit my boyfriend’s head off for having the audacity to tell me to change into a slower lane. There was metaphorical guts everywhere and they weren’t mine!

Then once the most hideous of Grump Zombie’s  had settled within him, he was like a hybrid Grump Zombie. He didn’t have the warning of a dark cloud that I did above his head. In fact, he looked normal, acted normal (mostly) and then BAM his grump zombie was all knives and ropes.  His flat mate  Dixi didn’t stand a chance, especially after  not doing the laundry.

And so the cycle continues, but what do I care, that’s someone else’s problem. For now.