Murphy is a jerk

Murphy is a jerk

by Jennifer Geiser

So I think to myself this evening "I should do something productive." Don't all disasters start with this kind of innocent thinking? At any rate, despite the nagging tiredness that comes from a day of wrangling young children alone and the pain in my neck from the herniated disc that's awaiting my husband's return from Iraq to be fixed, I decide that this is a good night to steam clean the living room floor. This logic may have been somewhat chemically induced as I take a good deal of pain medication for my arthritis and now for the herniated disc, but let's not dither about that. The floor needed cleaning and I was all over it.

I wait until the kids are tucked in for the night, not only because it's just logistically easier to clean when they're out of the picture but also because they're completely terrified of the steam cleaner. You'd think it was steaming the souls right out of their little bodies the way they cry when I even bring it out of the closet, nevermind actually turning it on. But back to our saga. I put the dog in her crate with a yummy bully stick (if you don't know what this is, get ready) to keep her busy while I work my magic on our poor tired carpet. I get down to the dirty work (no pun intended) and before long I have a gorgeous clean carpet. I'm so proud of myself! About this time the dog starts to whine in her crate with that intensity that says "I need to go outside RIGHT NOW." So I let her outside and finish emptying the water from the steam cleaner and put it away. Dog is back at the door, so I let her in. If this were a movie you'd be hearing the heavy strains of a foreshadowing song right about now.

So apparently at some point between dusk and when I let the dog outside we had a small rain shower. Who knew, right? And maybe the stress of listening to the steam cleaner upset my poor pup's tummy. Or maybe it was the banshee screaming that was soon to come. Who knows. What I do know is that my whole evening was blown to shit in about 30 seconds. It went something like this:

*I open back door

*Muddy hyperactive Doberman flies into living room grinding red mud into clean cream-colored carpet with every horse-sized step

*I begin to yell at mini-horse to STOP. SIT. STAY. DAMN IT I SAID SIT!!

*Horse-Dog ignores me and continues to do zoomies around coffee table

*Floor now looks like I emptied steam cleaner contents directly onto carpet and danced the Macarena afterwards

*Distraught by all the yelling and excitement of the evening, horse-dog promptly empties contents of stomach onto remaining clean patch of floor

*Floor is now a muddy ruin topped with vomit-scented bull penis

*I cry

So there you have it. Murphy's law prevails. It's the story of my life, people.