Yesterday I was talking to the women behind me in line at Wal-Mart (if you don't know, this is where all the COOL AS F*CK people now hang). She was clappy-hand stoked that her grandson, standing and swaying dangerously in the grocery cart, had kissed a green-haired doll and declared it "Bella." You know, as in, the character from Twilight. Because a child under the age of two should know who that is. Karma thought this was a shitty deal too, because seconds after I turned away to pay my stupidly cheap total, the kid took a tumble out of the cart and luckily landed in the piles of add-ons they keep tantalizingly close to you in the line to pay. If I'd seen that kid bail, my anus might have completely inverted itself. Lesson? Sometimes Christmas miracles can happen in Wal-Mart.
Also yesterday (it was a full day, ok) as I leaned out of the driver's side of the car to intentionally litter my emptied muffin liner, under my car, in my own parking garage, because I needed to be as lazy AND shitty as possible, a button on my coat got snagged on something and was ripped so powerfully off that it ricocheted across the car so loud that it pinged twice and finally landed under the passenger side seat. Of course that happened. I'm not sure the punishment fits the crime because I'm totally due now to stab myself about 37 times while attempting to sew back the button with an ancient hotel mending kit. Blood AND the re-realization I am as domestic as a pitbull? That seems a little harsh Universe.