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.