You should not be my friend. I am a danger magnet. I’m a living Murphy’s Law. It’s why my middle name is Dangerballs–I know Danger, and I know balls. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen to me.
Car wrecks? Why, I’ve seen all manner of those!
Weird Injuries? I once dislocated and broke my wrist playing Red Goddamn Rover.
House is haunted? Bet your ghost doesn’t call your husband!
Were you once robbed? I get robbed from places I don’t even live in anymore.
Sunday was not a shining example of how awesome my life is and why you want to be me, or, at the very least, have sex with me. Beyond the sinus infection I woke up with and the leaf-blowing taking place outside for the 4th time this week at 7 am, the real crown on the leader of the parade was the house fire.
My third house fire.
Adrian: Pause the movie. Do you smell that?
Me: No. Wait. Is that burn-y?
Adrian: I think so. What the fuck is on fire?
Me: Is the cat on fire?
Adrian: The cat? What is wrong with you? No, the cat is not on fire.
Me: Remember when he set his whiskers on fire? It’s a legit question. Is it the DVR? This one’s been all way-too-hot lately.
Adrian: (sniffing DVR) No.
Me: Maybe the breaker box? That one breaker keeps popping whenever you shave.
Adrian: (sniffing breaker box) No…why hasn’t maintenance fixed that?
Me: The heater, maybe? The shower leaks water into the heater.
Adrian: FOR HOW LONG? Why has this not been repaired?
*EARTH FUCKING SHAKING BOOM, FOLLOWED BY SOME SMOKE*
Turns out, it was the heater. And it filled me a combination of delight and horror to watch the maintenance man hit the dirt when he turned on the heater to test it, and flames shot at his face. It filled me with even more delight to watch him unplug it, pull the motor out and say, “We’ll be by with new one tomorrow evening.” In retrospect, laughing on the stairs at his near-death and shouting, “I COULDA TOLD YOU THAT WAS A FUCKING TERRIBLE IDEA, A-HOLE,” was a bad call.
To sate your fears (and my sister’s, who is only hearing about this for the first time through this post) nothing of mine burned this time. It’s all a tad smoky, but we’re all fine.
When I told Liz about it on Twitter, it inexplicably devolved into me and Porchy O’Cracksmack (my porch dwelling crack whore) lighting girl scouts on fire as a business plan. Not literally. Just, you know, in the line of storytelling.
I don’t actually want to light girl scouts on fire.
But I might threaten them with flames to get free cookies.
I’m not above threatening children for food.
What are you a magnet for?