My grandma always told me I was lucky. Like daily. So, I grew up believing I was a “very lucky little girl”. Turns out, grandma might have been wrong about my luck. Then again, I guess it depends on the perspective. I mean, I could view my being adopted rather than aborted as a lucky occurence or I could see the abandonment part of being given away. Luck or choice…who really knows.
But when it comes to everyday stuff, my luck seems to run short. I always, without fail, every single time, pick the wrong line. At the grocery store, at the movie theater, at the gas station…everywhere. It is a running joke between me and the kids. I will see the shortest line and head for it just to stand and wait for at least 20 minutes while the other very long lines that I did not pick flow like a river to the sea (you like that imagery, don’t ya). I tried to trick my luck and pick the longest line, but it didn’t work. I was still waiting 20 minutes later as every other line had been cleared.
Today, I was outside cleaning the patio, weeding and scraping moss off the bricks, ya know, making everything pretty. I was remembering the past few springs and the incidents that occured.The first year in this house was my first experience with a weed whacker. Surprisingly (or not), it took me all year to learn that wearing flip flops and shorts while weed whacking is a very, very painful idea, especially when the crushed stone driveway has a weed. Last year I was weed whacking and accidently weed wacked a dead mole. Mole guts flying everywhere. Such a tiny creature created such a huge mess, all over my pants and shirt. I also weed wacked a pile of dog poop that was buried under some huge weed. Ok, I did that more than once. I am now very leery of huge weeds because they obviously excrete poop that is exactly like dog poop. Who knew. EIther that or my dogs are very careful about where they poop…maybe I am being paranoid….
Anyway, I was not weed whacking today, I was manually pulling weeds. Huge weeds. And as I am bent over just like a little old lady, butt in the air, chest hanging out, I grab a huge handful of weeds and yank with all my might. Out come the weeds along with a dead mole. The mole flew up from the ground, hit me on my forehead, bounced off my unintentionally exposed chest and landed right in front of me. I screamed louder than I did when I thought I had won the lottery and ran away into the back yard doing my “grossed out” dance. I shake it off and go back to the scene of the crime to check out the body. Yup, it a dead mole. I was hit by a flying dead mole. Is that bad luck or just a fluke? I don’t know, but it was really, really gross, that I do know. I am the only person I know that this type of stuff happens to.
Now, of all the places in my yard that my mother could have buried the dead mole that the cat left as a present for us, she chose the place where I happened to be weeding today. Who’s luck is that and is it good luck or bad? Not so good for the mole or me, but when I tell my mother she will probably laugh. I guess I was lucky that it wasn’t a dead skunk, or a rabid racoon. R.I.P. mole and thanks for the memories….