I always say my husband is blessed with good fortune. He gets the parking spot right in front of the building, the string of green lights, the perfect shirt on the 70% off rack, every time. Certainly being married to me can only be considered the luckiest hand ever dealt to a man. He often buys lottery tickets and fully expects to win someday. Given his history, I’m optimistic as well. After all, matrimonial law says if he’s lucky, then I’m 50% as lucky, not bad for sitting around being envious of someone.
Of course it could be that the sole reason he hasn’t won yet is me. Sure, I’m lucky in love, but when it comes to the day to day unimportant misfortunes (red lights, endlessly searching for a place to park, paying full price for clothes made for a giraffe, etc.), I tend to draw the short end of the stick, every time. I often wonder how he would cope if any misfortune should ever befall him. Not that I would ever wish that upon him mind you. But maybe it would be good for him to just once see how the other half lives.
Be careful what you wish for, right? The other day something happened that led me to believe (and fear) that a reversal of fortune may be in the works. Rusty and I were on the phone and he was having a less than stellar day. He was walking (to a meeting) and talking (about a less than pleasant work situation) when he abruptly said, “Uh, I gotta go.” Click. About an hour later, he called back. “A giant bird SHIT ON ME!!” Well, “Hello my darling wife” would have been nice but this was interesting indeed.
He proceeded to tell the tale of a dump of epic proportion and of epic scent, as in this bird was obviously huge and had been eating rotten, putrid, sun baked shellfish. His gorgeous red hair, sunglasses (see, what did I tell you? I would have had an eyeful), an envelope he was carrying, and a freshly laundered shirt took direct hits. He had to race home and de-gull himself for his meeting. I asked around the office and, sadly, this is all too common a phenomenon here. While France is mired in dog droppings, the Victoria skies are full of seagulls the size of dogs and the excrement bombs are a fact of life.
But even when the fates are against him, my man and Lady Luck remain intimately connected. First, everyone I know says that a bird pooping on you is good luck. Second, that envelope I mentioned seals his deal with her. Just prior to venturing out into the shit storm, he decided that, on second thought, he would indeed cover that very valuable original piece of art by a major Canadian artist, a piece of art entrusted to him by his new client. The envelope was covered in gull glop, the art was pristine. Then he won 10 bucks on his most recent lottery ticket.
The worst thing about all this? By the time I saw Neil at the end of the day, all traces of the beast had been washed away. I didn’t even get to point and yell, “Shithead!!” and laugh my arse off. Just my luck. Nothing to do but dance to today’s theme song…