***No humans were irrevocably damaged (much) by this bout of karma***
Karma is always best when it’s not directed at…
you know, me?
It’s been crazy. No, really. Cray-zee this month. What with a funer-ah…I mean, a birthday and the holiday hustle-bustle, smack a Skylander game from another woman’s hand (not me) and my anatomy and car lessons via Murphy it’s-yep.
Off the chain. I was due my turn to giggle. Past due. Wayy past due and today? Ah…that mistake was corrected. Order has been restored to my ADHD mind. hehe
Come sit, I’ll explain.
1st some overdue karma, then some budding testosterone.
Stir vigourously and….grin
A bumper to bumper traffic situation with CeeLee at the wheel. Grim faced and hair standing on end from the static cling, muttering about the idiocy of other people’s techniques for merging onto a highway ramp.
Duck is warm and secure in his backseat, carefully holding the equivalent of wake up or else, vitamin fortified juicebox in one hand and his breakfast in the other.
Duck is freshly defunkified and ready to meet the oncoming school day.
The car is a manual, to which Duck is all too aware, don’t let him fool you.
The car bucks just a little and…voila! Duck has the entire contents of the juicebox on his crotch. The kind of juice that stains jeans with a dark splotch that napkins and liberal useage of wet wipes cannot erase and with no spare pair of jeans to change into.
Can you hear what the Duck is yelling?
No? Sorry, I’ll bet my laughing is drowning him out. He’s yelling that it’s a bit frosty down where the spillage happened and he’s quering me as to what is he to do when he has to take off his coat at school? Because they’ll make him do that at some point during the day.
Anyone with a suggestion? No? hehe
Add a dash of redneck male pride to
the karma and testosterone, mix well then…run!
Last night, after Duck is finally asleep, dreaming of sweet little Duck dreams and snoring loudly in the next room with the dog keeping time with him. The Redneck finally wandered into our bedroom. The Redneck warily plugs his new cell up to charge for the night right as it rings. Loudly.
At a broadcast to the world level, (this cell is supposed to have great sound quality, I can attest to the veracity of that claim) and it began braying a gravelly male voice that informs everyone in the general 50 mile radius to…”Blow it out yer ass!” over and over again.
The ring tone. The Redneck scrambles, he misses, he fumbles, and yes! He scores! By turning the volume up to reach the 100 mile radius instead.
He looks at his cell and says…and…he says….
Sorry. I’m still cracking up. Ahem. He says in complete puzzlement that it’s a family member of his calling him. If you only knew how fitting that ringer was, for the person it was magically attached to.
The Redneck does know how fitting it is, which is why he isn’t speaking to me and gets indignant all over again when he hears me tapping away, safe in my office behind a locked door, and cackling.
Oh and I am. It was karma. I swear it. That’s why this is so funny.
Moral of the story?
I did not, whatsoever, manipulate and/or manhandle that cell in any shape or form…which is why it’s so perfect. For me. And for Duck (sorry Ms -, he was instructed not to say this charming phrase at school, let me know if he does) until his turn came round this morning.