We’ve all heard of those old sayings. Adages, clichés, and truisms. We always smile at their charm and light-hearted wit. Most are tongue-in-cheek. Some can be applied to our everyday life to some degree. There are two in particular that I take seriously and actually find myself planning life around. It may sound odd, but a few recent experiences around my home have helped feed this twisted paranoia of mine.
The first adage is a personal favorite of mine. "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong". This is affectionately known as “Murphy’s Law”. Affectionate, that is, unless Murphy has taken up residence on your doorstep. Now, we have all had little things that go wrong on occasion. A dish breaks, the cable goes out, you smash four of your toes on the hallway baseboard. None of these qualify as Murphy products. He is the one responsible for the real doozies. The kind that leaves dents in your wallet as well as your vacation plans.
The second adage is “bad luck always comes in threes.” This adage is Murphy’s personal sidekick. Batman had Robin, Penn had Teller, Crosby had Stills…and, well Nash…and eventually Young as well. Anyway, you get the gist. They travel hand-in-hand. It’s like clockwork.
When Murphy makes his initial appearance, the first thing that I usually do is take a proactive look around my house. This is a completely useless defense mechanism of mine employed to seemingly prepare myself for the follow-on double whammie. I typically start with the high dollar appliances and work my way down. This blatant domestic profiling probably stems from one of my father’s favorite adages. “Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.” I heard that one a lot growing up. A good twenty years later than he had probably hoped, but apparently it stuck. Ultimately though, planning for the unknown is about as pointless as bringing a glass of water to a wild fire.
Murphy’s latest barrage on my humble abode was certainly no exception.
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” One afternoon while my wife was cooking, our oven automatically switched itself from 250 degrees to broil. Apparently, Murphy likes his banana bread, as well as my surrounding cabinetry, well-done. After numerous phone calls to customer service and the Consumer Product Safety Commission, it was determined that there was a recall on that range, but not on my particular serial number. I’m going to summarize my salty telephone language that afternoon with a customized adage mash-up. “He who casts stones at the company he keeps, gets last laugh.”
“Here today, gone tomorrow.” After a harsh winter and some spring downpours, our driveway had begun to crumble and wash away. Obviously, this had to occur at its narrowest point and next to a five foot creek bed. After each rain, more asphalt was missing and the growing chasm more prominent. My daughter would often ask my wife why daddy stood and talked to the driveway while waving his arms uncontrollably. Finally though, a professional was summoned to build a support system and patch the landslide. For now, nightmares of giant sinkholes and the family having to learn Mandarin Chinese were rested.
“One swallow does not a summer make.” Maybe one swallow does not a summer make, but a broken air-conditioner in August definitely does. One evening, I noticed that the temperature upstairs was 88 degrees, but set at 76. Heavens to Mergatroid! The grand finale! The heat index for the weekend was forecasted to be 115 degrees. This time, it was my son who stood puzzled as I shook my fist at the ceiling and mumbled incoherently in uncouth tongues. It took one sweltering week, a makeshift FEMA camp downstairs, and all of the lint from my wallet…but we could finally sleep upstairs again.
With the trifecta now complete, Murphy’s latest visit has come full-circle. I can now walk around my home paranoia-free knowing that I have met my quota for this year. I can finally rest my conscience and my credit cards for a while.
“Ignorance is bliss.”
