Murphy’s Law and I are old pals. In case you live in a cave, Murphy’s Law is a rule that states if something can go wrong it will and at the worst possible time. Once again I have been nabbed by this facetious rule.
While enjoying a chewy low-fat, low-calorie (translation: tasteless) granola bar today I broke a fairly new crown on one of my middle-aged molars. Ouch. How do you break a tooth on something so benign as a chewy granola bar? Murphy’s Law.
The reason this is the worst possible time for Murphy’s Law to hit is Devoted Spouse and I are getting ready to go to the National Rifle Association Convention in Louisville, Kentucky in a few days. This is a big deal for Devoted Spouse; for me, well it will be a nice break and chance to get away for a few days. This trip allows me to 1) support him in a hobby he thoroughly enjoys, and 2) what a great place for blog ideas, and oh yeah 3) probably shoot the breeze (and only the breeze — I don’t have a concealed carry license) with my fellow Hitlery bashers.
Fortunately, I have a very nice dentist who can fit me in tomorrow to fix this stupid tooth ($$$$$$$). He loves when I break things; he can buy more boats and big homes. Murphy’s Law for me; new toys for him. I’m just another part of the universal checks and balances, and well things have been going pretty nicely for me lately. Murphy’s Law was bound to hit sooner or later.
I’m going to go liquify some diet cookies now – I really need a safe snack.