Tuesday, November 25, 2008

There follows a small comment which jeopardizes my well being far beyond redemption.

I have written, and others, far more wise than I, have written; and folk lore repeated has cemented in culture – that if one talks about it, the Gods of Variance insure exactly the reverse will occur.

Now why that should be I cannot say. And why it works only from good to bad is only more obtuse.

Here then, is my small contribution to the common “proof” to the collective wisdom of humanity.

I wrote, during my sojourn among the deciding group called “Jury,” somewhat to the effect “the water being turned off an hour prior to the weekly bath.”

Which is not really tempting fate. I think not. But Fate, as all superior beings chooses to hear and reveal their decisions when least providential.

The village water main, twix my home and the pressure point, sprang a leak the Friday after my post. The water was off for eight hours, and Yes, I was an hour away from my planned weekly sluice.

I had even purchased, having long considered which, from a catalog received weeks ago, and waiting with patience for it to arrive via snail mail, a special bar of bath soap, and had planned to use it that very day. I’ll not mention the cost, nor the damage to my inner being; to say little of my plans for the coming eve, for Friday nights are, an American Tradition even, the eve of chase and libation, and for some, liberation.

Besides, it was a first date.

Cancellation led to no relations. Though forgiveness given proved little value to expectations and thus it was I missed not a game of the televised college nor the NFL football games over the week end.

I woke yesterday, a newly minted week and hopes spinning brightly – to find once again, the main had broken and an un-announced outtage taped me on the shoulder.

And thus, I once again tempt fate.

And lend it a hand – well, one finger.

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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