As a comedy writer, the “rule of three” means you string together two normal things (say, 2 cups of flour and 1 tsp. of baking soda) and then add an unexpected third one (e.g., 1 gallon of tequila) and voila, you have a template for writing one kind of joke (or making one really delicious, albeit runny, cake).
As a human being, however, whenever something happens to me three times in a row, I’m fairly certain the universe is trying to tell me something. Unfortunately, I think I accidentally donated my universal decoder ring to Goodwill last week, so I’m struggling to figure out today’s turn of events.
Before I tell the story, it’s important that you know that when I walk my three dachshunds, one is on a flexi-lead, while the other two are attached to a belt around my waist on bungee leashes that extend to 6-feet fully stretched.
Thing1: While walking the dogs along the river today, I heard the sound of geese flying near, so I turned around to look. Three geese were flying at eye level to me, straight at me. I semi-panicked, but I figured if I swerved, I’d swerve right into a goose because my self-defense instincts are always off by about 30 degrees. About 6 feet before the eventual collision I was predicting, one goose — let’s call him Gary — suddenly veered left. I have never been so close to a wild animal in flight and it was awesome.
But if Gary had flown straight into my head, I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this blog. I’d probably be in a hospital trying to remember my name while my doxies roamed around the park begging strangers for handouts.
Thing2: Still on the walk. The dogs are thrilled that the squirrels are out in full force. We’re running here and running there to smell the trunks of trees that the much faster and smarter squirrels have run up before we arrived. At one point, I’m looking west, when suddenly Katja — the most squirrel-obsessed and also the strongest — pulls me due north. She is attached to my waist so even though she’s small, she can yank me off course easily.
I immediately spot a Doug fir tree coming at me at dachshund miles per hour. I barely avoid running into it, head first.
Already, I thinking, I should wear a helmet from now on.
Thing3: Finally home and mostly in one piece, I am unhooking the dogs from their seatbelts, which are attached to their leashes. I get Murray out, then Katja, but when I try to grab Sanders, his bungee leash seems to be stuck between the seat and the car door on the opposite side. So, being a real “hindsight is 20/20” kind of girl, I yank on the bungee, it frees itself and smacks me right in the face. The metal clip causes my bottom lip to swell up like I’m a Kardashian.
So, the question is, with two near-misses and and one direct strike to my head all in the course of an hour, what is it the universe would like me to know? Am I supposed to let my brain rest? Learn new and different cursewords? Avoid ever leaving the house? Go back to the park and ask Gary?
Come on universe, make yourself clear. But please don’t give me a concussion in the process.
Comments on: "Third Time’s a Bitch" (2)
If I were the Universe I would say “Lose the dogs.” But as I’m merely an amused spectator, I happily await accounts of canine mishaps.
Since my other blog is called WagNotWhine, losing the dogs isn’t something the universe could tell me without laughing itself into the second (or fortieth) big bang 🙂