Seven minutes after I wake up on Saturday, I go out on the front porch for a smoke (no lectures; that's another story/post/time/place); hubby and middle child join me (they would have to speak to their own reasons & neuroses).
Neighbor from across the streets exits the door of the cute little 1920's apartment building. He is wearing a too-bright, too-cheery yellow & orange Hawaiian shirt & khaki shorts. "He's blinding me with shirtness," I wince. Hubby begins to work the word "shirtness" into Dolby's Blinded Me With Science while the neighbor heads out of sight to the parking behind the apartment building.
Moments later, the neighbor cruises up the drive -- on foot. I know he's heading towards us. Before he's reached the street, I've already tossed out the anxiety-ridden possibility that he'd heard my comment about his shirt and was coming to confront me and got the psychic vibe that he's going to ask for a ride. Sure enough.
"Can I get a ride to 19th Avenue North?" he smiles, "I thought I drove my car home last night, but once I got to my empty parking spot, I remembered I was too drunk to drive..."
This would be too much even for those with an irony deficiency, let alone me. Unable to control myself, I start laughing -- which sets off hubby. "You have bad luck, dude," I chuckle, "Of all the houses on the street... We have two vans, but neither is running."
It's the truth. Days after repairing Ookla, he busts a hose & is non-movable until hubby finishes the repair, and Star has plunged a bolt (with washer, so that it sealed the hole long enough to get home) deep into one of her tires and we were minutes from taking in her in for a new tire. ...Then again, at our house, at any given time we have car problems.
But anyway, the neighbor is undaunted. I'm pretty sure he was still under the influence. And not just because of the too-bright-for-anytime-let-alone-with-a-hangover shirt.
Looking at his watch he says, "Yeah, I'm supposed to meet my friends at a restaurant at 11:40 and it's 12:23 now..."
I don't have the heart to tell him that even if we could give him a ride, we wouldn't be able to deliver him back in time to join his friends.
Instead I joke, "You're name must be Murphy, huh?"
"No, my name's Chris," he happily responds.
"Uh, I meant Murphy, as in Murphy's Law."
"Oh the irony of the universe!" he happily acknowledges. And then tacks on an awkward, "I love you guys!" before he leaves.
But this is my life and I've only been up, what, like 15 minutes now? So the awkward is only just beginning.