I am being cursed and/or haunted.
This is very, very true. Guys, you know that feeling when it’s like you’re being cursed by a petulant (and fairly low-ranking) priestess? (You do, right? …Yes?)
Like when bizarre and generally inconsequential things keep going down and normally you’d brush them off and keep going except for the fact that they keep happening and piling on like you’re being regularly poked with a stick over the course of a day? (Not a fatally sharpened stick. Just, you know, a stick. Which still doesn’t feel great, in case you’re wondering.)
Because I know this feeling. Me. I’m the one who’s being prodded with the dull branch.
First off.
The other day as I was working on my computer, I took a sip of coffee without looking and felt a sudden pinch and BURN. (No, it wasn’t from the coffee. Moms don’t drink hot coffee.) I spit out my mouthful (because I am a lady) and found a teensy tiny ant that, on its way through a wave of coffee, found purchase on my tongue and bit down. I was impressed. But also furious. And creeped out. (A lot.) My tongue hurt and I didn’t know what to do with my feelings- would you be sympathetic if someone told you their tongue was bitten by an ant? No, you’d laugh. Because it’s funny and pathetic and not at all deserving of the sympathy I felt I so richly deserved. So I turned my pain and slight embarrassment inward. (Point to you, Dark Magic practitioner.)
(I don’t trust you.)
Next up.
Half an hour later, I took a bite of the Armenian Easter biscuits that my kids helped me make. I felt really really close to Suzy almost immediately. Why? Oh, it’s because I needed to yank a full mouthful of the bread from my throat- the bite I had taken was wrapped in at least seven of her wild blonde hairs. I almost choked to death on a combo of asphyxiation and my skin crawling directly off of my body. (So no, the worst part of that story isn’t that I was eating gluten-free baked goods.)
Oh, but then?
As soon as I left to pick up the girls from school? I took a gigantic swig of tea from my travel mug- only to have the lid bubble up with residual dish soap. Like, a lot of dish soap. Why? I don’t know! You could argue that it was at least clean, but I definitely would’ve preferred the taste of actual dirt to actual Palmolive. You know that scene in the Little Mermaid where Sebastian the crab, having taken an accidental dip through the palace’s laundry tubs, hiccups soap in confusion? I was Sebastian! (I was also definitely the crab!)
The good news: I think I accidentally stumbled upon a new kind of cleanse. It’s called Accidentally Eat Or Drink Awful Things And Hold That Knowledge In Your Heart Of Hearts Until The Next Mealtime. (Repeat!)
And no. No. (No, Mom.) This is not a basic housekeeping issue. I am being cursed. Or haunted.
Gaslit by a ghost.
It’s certainly not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened in this house…
…But it sure is the one that’ll fit me into those short shorts by June.
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