Murphy’s Law

Murphy’s law states that if something can go wrong, it will.

As of late, Chris has “jokingly” started calling me Murph. If there’s a curb, I will trip on it. If there’s a pitcher of water, I will spill it. And if I’m opening a small packet of ketchup I will manage to bust it open in a way that shoots the ketchup straight up onto my forehead and all over my face.

Let me go back a bit and explain.

Last weekend I bought Chris and I tickets to watch the Cubs game from a nearby rooftop. I surprised him with the purchase, very proud of myself for setting up such a fun Saturday. All you can eat and drink while watching a little baseball, what could be better?

For starters it might help if you could actually see the game. When I purchased the tickets I didn’t realize I got the rooftop right behind the new big screen. Thanks, Groupon.

The first thing Chris asked when I told him about the game was, “I hope you didn’t buy the one right behind the new screen.”

Naturally I snapped back, “Of course I didn’t! Give me more credit.”

Classic, Murphy.

There was another floor where the game was actually visible, but we didn’t get there in time to get seats on that floor. No, that floor was full of very tan people, in little-to-no clothing, who all appeared to have hit the gym in the morning, then the club, and then made it to the game an hour before every else. It was also the floor where the food was.

It was the third inning and I was on the food floor double fisting hotdogs in my jean overalls with the rest of the children when I approached the condiment table. The small ketchup packet was being particularly stubborn so I squeezed extra hard and suddenly the entire thing burst open, shooting the dollop of ketchup straight onto my face and under the bill of my hat. It was the kind of accident that you’d see in a movie and say, now how in the hell did the ketchup land there?

My face looked like a massacre. There was ketchup splattered on my eyelids and all over my eyebrows.

I searched the crowd trying to find someone to laugh with, but all I could see were pretty people in muscle tees and lace crop tops staring at the girl dressed like a toddler with food all over her face thinking, “Oh, I think she’s here all alone. Maybe it’s her special day or something…” The worst part was that they weren’t even judging me, they were pitying me.

So I grabbed some napkins, and of course my hot dogs, and ran down to Chris. By the time I got to him I had taken off my hat and was trying to clean it off and he just looked at me and said,

“Why do you have ketchup in your hairline?”

“Because it exploded on me.”

He shook his head knowing all too well I’d probably made a scene upstairs, “You better go to the bathroom and get yourself together.”

And so I did. I went to the bathroom and cleaned ketchup out of my hair because that’s the type of shit I have to do.

We left around the sixth inning. And because I felt like the food had been bad and we could barely see the game I grabbed a few bags of chips to take on the road.

I thought I was in the clear until I came barreling down the stairs, hands full of miniature sized Doritos, when I nearly ran into one of the tan pretty girls from the top floor. As I stumbled into her she just looked at me and gave me a sympathetic smile and I imagined her thinking, “Good for you ketchup, girl. Make this day great!”

I don’t usually steal Doritos. I’m not that person. But I’d had a rough day so I thought it was okay…

Shortly after the Doritos heist I dropped my phone on the cement and this happened.

You’re probably not going to believe me, but this is my 17th phone I’ve cracked. I’m not even lying. The people at the Fix-It store know me by name.

So if you received the “tipsy” snapchats on Saturday now you know why. It wasn’t me, it was Murphy. Murphy does what Murphy wants.

Even Chris admits my Murphiness has been out of control lately. I still blame it on the concussion from the backflip incident on the trolley a few months ago… My hand-eye coordination isn’t quite back to normal yet.

All things aside it was another great Chicago weekend. Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches, you know?