Marie, I’m still waiting…
I get about six e-mails a week of the variety I call “chain emails.”
You know the ones, all forwarded, they deliver a beautiful message. If they stopped right there, you could walk away with a warm feeling deep in your soul and promise to be a better person for the rest of your life.
But then, they instruct you to send it immediately to from six to 25 people and promise that something wonderful will happen within three to nine minutes.
Against my better judgment, I did that this week. After a series of domestic glitches, I was ready for some good news. So I dug deep down into my cyber-address book and selected the proper number of people to receive the magical e-mail. I sat back with a fresh cup of coffee and waited for the miracle to happen.
Within nine minutes, I innocently turned on the garbage disposal and it regurgitated a small spoon which had slipped down while I was wasn’t paying attention. Within 18 minutes I discovered that water was pouring out of the garbage disposal, soaking everything underneath the sink, and running out onto my newly waxed hardwood floor.
I have company coming this weekend, or the floors wouldn’t haven’t been waxed at all. I shouldn’t have bothered. I called the plumber, but his number had been disconnected.
Within 27 minutes, while I was mopping up the water, Rebel Dawg threw up on the sofa. Lucky Dawg, so traumatized and grossed out by the turn of events, decided to take a leak on the newly shampooed Indian rug less than nine minutes later.
So now, I’m sitting here waiting on Mr. Clean to show up and clean up the mess, rewax the floor, and fix the disposal.
It’s been 48 hours and I’m still waiting on the miracle. Hope floats, but I may be too old to wait much longer.
Whatever you do, don’t open a forwarded e-mail from me. It’s a curse.