I have a friend who always says, whenever something goes wrong, “Well, you know Murphy. He’s my cousin.” I’ve echoed the sentiment many times and have even one-upped her by claiming to be part of the direct bloodline of Murphy. Unscripted, I can always regurgitate a running list of reasons that support my descendancy from the Murphy clan. Though I will go on the record stating that I don’t believe in luck, I have often claimed, “If it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.” I know we all have our moments, but I have often felt over the years that I am truly exceptional, and often not in an enviable kind of way.
The other day in the car, I was listening to Jeff Foxworthy and his “You Might Be a Redneck” bit (favorites from the clip I heard that day: “…if you mow your grass and find a car;” “…if you’ve ever financed a tattoo;” and “…if you’ve ever made change in the offering plate.”) With a thanks to Mr. Foxworthy for the blog inspiration, here’s my list of “You Might Be a Descendant of Murphy if…”
…your child barfs in her bed on the first night of sleeping in new, clean sheets (and changing sheets on a bunk bed is your least favorite household chore).
…you get pregnant days after you sell off ALL your old baby gear. And despite your IUD.
…you get a black eye (from a car door of all things) the day before you meet a bunch of your husband’s co-workers for the first time and have to wonder if they’ll now think he is abusive.
…you’re staying in a hotel and, while trying to find the door for the bathroom in the middle of the night, you wander groggily and mistakenly into the hallway, wearing only your underwear, and don’t realize your mistake until the door clicks shut, locked, behind you.
…it’s YOUR kid who throws up in the garden at a birthday party, and the mom of the kid who’s throwing the birthday party is an ardent germaphobe. (Thankfully, she’s also you good friend, even after the vomiting episode.)
…when typing an e-mail to a co-worker, complaining about your boss (who you identify as “loony”), you accidentally address the e-mail to the “loony” boss in question. And don’t realize it until the e-mail has been sent.
…you’re allergic to benadryl, the medicine given to treat an allergic reaction, and realize it only after you’ve been given benadryl to combat an allergic reaction.
…you get into poison ivy a couple days before embarking on a belated honeymoon Caribbean cruise and are one giant, oozy, itchy scab for your entire beach vacation.
…your daughter barfs ALL OVER the sand-colored living room carpet, after having eaten a peanut butter and jelly (grape, of course) sandwich for lunch. And once you get the steam cleaner comes out, it is, naturally, not working.
…you’re in an enclosed space with a bunch of people and you demand that everyone check their shoes because someone reeks of dog crap, only to discover that it’s YOUR shoes (flip-flop sandals, at that) that are caked with dog crap. Corollary: If there’s dog crap anywhere around, you WILL step in it.
…your husband always accuses you of shoddy workmanship, and the shelf you put up over the bed falls on him in the middle of the night (and the picture frame that was on the shelf leaves a gash on his forehead the night before he has to have a government photo taken).
…you have been pulled over three times in the same month. In a mini-van.
…it’s YOUR kid who has an “accident” in the pool at the hotel at Disney and then, on the walk back to the hotel room, the “accident” falls out of her bathing suit, unnoticed, onto the sidewalk. You know what they always say….What happens at Disney stays at Disney. (As a disclaimer, this happened to a friend who was with my daughter, but I still claim it for Murphy descendancy purposes, as it was my kid who caused all this mortification. This episode also likely proves my friend’s Murphy bloodline and, therefore, our sisterhood.)
…you’ve ever rested on a farm fence, only to discover it’s of the electric variety. For those who are curious, it takes about two days for the tingling to go away.
These are just a few of the many pieces of evidence I’ve collected over the years supporting my claim of being a Murphy. As to why my maiden name isn’t Murphy? I must’ve been mixed up at the hospital at birth, which is exactly what you’d expect for a Murphy.