Karma
Since I'm still beading that stupid lace for my stupid wedding dress, I thought I'd post another (quick) story about what it's like to be me.
I've spent a goodly amount of time in emergency rooms throughout the course of my life. Without giving it much thought at all, I can remember getting stitches six times, hard casts twice (including the faux cast they put on my fingers after the hand mixer incident, soft casts four times (including the fall I took off my deck), and three other incidents where I didn't get anything but good drugs. And that's without racking my brain - I'm sure there are more that just don't come immediately to mind.
This particular time I'm thinking about happened about a week after I learned about Karma in school.
I came home from school a bit late, and as I was walking down my driveway, I could hear my mom yelling. My mother isn't a screamer - she's pretty even tempered, so I ran into the house to find out what's going on. Turns out, she was shouting at the dog.
The door we used to get into the house led directly into the kitchen, where the yelling was happening. I walked in and watched my Mom loudly ask the dog several questions as though she expected answers. She was waving her hands and her face was all red.
Duke was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing - he sat down and started licking at his nether region, clearly not caring what she had to say. This INFURIATED my mom, who apparently didn't realize that Duke was A DOG, and therefore ill equipped to have a rational discussion with her.
Of course, I was standing in the doorway laughing my ass off, because I was a teenager (and therefore a jerk), and because catching my mom acting crazy wasn't an everyday occurrence.
She yells at me that I'd better stop laughing, then goes to shoo Duke out of the open kitchen door.
Duke's looking at her like "Seriously? You want me to go outside? Can't you see I'm licking my junk, here?" and is clearly reluctant to go anywhere, and since my Mom isn't a hitter, she won't reduce herself to smacking that smug look off his furry face, so she gestures wildly and starts to swear at him.
My mom is TEENY. She's barely five feet tall, and weighs maybe 98 pounds soaking wet - the dog is probably big enough to take her down without a problem, and frankly, I've never seen her this excited, so I'm laughing so hard I can barely stand up. I'm holding myself up by the door jamb when she turns on me and shouts at me some more, which really just eggs me on.
Finally, she's had it. She bends over and plants her hand on Duke's back (he's sitting in the doorway, having gone back to his...erm...personal hygiene routine) and gives him a shove out the open door, then SLAMS the door shut with all her might.
The door pops back open.
She stands there looking stunned for a moment, and I laugh even harder - seriously, you shoulda seen the look on her face. She reaches out and slams the door again, this time hauling it back as far as it will go before whaling it shut. BAM!
It pops back open.
I am SHRIEKING with laughter at this point - seriously, I've never SEEN my mom so mad, and right now, she's five feet of exposed nerve.
She grabs the door with both hands and flings it shut again, following with a kick, and guess what...the door pops back open.
Still shrieking with laughter and gripping the door jamb to keep myself upright, I suddenly realize that something's wrong. Terribly wrong. With my hand.
Mom's given up the slamming, realizing that if it won't close after that two-handed slam/karate kick, doing it again probably won't do it - now she's trying to figure out why it won't close.
Suddenly, we both go very still and silent, and I slowly turn my head toward the door.
Toward my fingers in the door jamb.
In the way of the slamming door. Keeping the door from slamming.
Instant Karma. Universe is back in balance.
I am yelling for my mom to stop laughing, and my mom is, no exaggeration, rolling on the kitchen floor, laughing her guts out.
I've spent a goodly amount of time in emergency rooms throughout the course of my life. Without giving it much thought at all, I can remember getting stitches six times, hard casts twice (including the faux cast they put on my fingers after the hand mixer incident, soft casts four times (including the fall I took off my deck), and three other incidents where I didn't get anything but good drugs. And that's without racking my brain - I'm sure there are more that just don't come immediately to mind.
This particular time I'm thinking about happened about a week after I learned about Karma in school.
I came home from school a bit late, and as I was walking down my driveway, I could hear my mom yelling. My mother isn't a screamer - she's pretty even tempered, so I ran into the house to find out what's going on. Turns out, she was shouting at the dog.
The door we used to get into the house led directly into the kitchen, where the yelling was happening. I walked in and watched my Mom loudly ask the dog several questions as though she expected answers. She was waving her hands and her face was all red.
Duke was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing - he sat down and started licking at his nether region, clearly not caring what she had to say. This INFURIATED my mom, who apparently didn't realize that Duke was A DOG, and therefore ill equipped to have a rational discussion with her.
Of course, I was standing in the doorway laughing my ass off, because I was a teenager (and therefore a jerk), and because catching my mom acting crazy wasn't an everyday occurrence.
She yells at me that I'd better stop laughing, then goes to shoo Duke out of the open kitchen door.
Duke's looking at her like "Seriously? You want me to go outside? Can't you see I'm licking my junk, here?" and is clearly reluctant to go anywhere, and since my Mom isn't a hitter, she won't reduce herself to smacking that smug look off his furry face, so she gestures wildly and starts to swear at him.
My mom is TEENY. She's barely five feet tall, and weighs maybe 98 pounds soaking wet - the dog is probably big enough to take her down without a problem, and frankly, I've never seen her this excited, so I'm laughing so hard I can barely stand up. I'm holding myself up by the door jamb when she turns on me and shouts at me some more, which really just eggs me on.
Finally, she's had it. She bends over and plants her hand on Duke's back (he's sitting in the doorway, having gone back to his...erm...personal hygiene routine) and gives him a shove out the open door, then SLAMS the door shut with all her might.
The door pops back open.
She stands there looking stunned for a moment, and I laugh even harder - seriously, you shoulda seen the look on her face. She reaches out and slams the door again, this time hauling it back as far as it will go before whaling it shut. BAM!
It pops back open.
I am SHRIEKING with laughter at this point - seriously, I've never SEEN my mom so mad, and right now, she's five feet of exposed nerve.
She grabs the door with both hands and flings it shut again, following with a kick, and guess what...the door pops back open.
Still shrieking with laughter and gripping the door jamb to keep myself upright, I suddenly realize that something's wrong. Terribly wrong. With my hand.
Mom's given up the slamming, realizing that if it won't close after that two-handed slam/karate kick, doing it again probably won't do it - now she's trying to figure out why it won't close.
Suddenly, we both go very still and silent, and I slowly turn my head toward the door.
Toward my fingers in the door jamb.
In the way of the slamming door. Keeping the door from slamming.
Instant Karma. Universe is back in balance.
I am yelling for my mom to stop laughing, and my mom is, no exaggeration, rolling on the kitchen floor, laughing her guts out.
I haven't even read this post, but I wanted to pop in really quick and wish you a happy birthday yesterday! I knew it was your birthday all day - and totally neglected to stop by. Hope you had a great day. g