I have the worst luck.
A customer stopped by yesterday to ask if I’d be interested in taking her old sewing machine. It still works, is in great condition, and I’m certainly not one to turn down a backup machine for those all-too-common times when mine decides it’s too good to work for me anymore. The customer asked if I wouldn’t mind getting the machine out of her car (she had recently suffered from a back injury and couldn’t lift it herself), and walked with me to show me where she was parked. I grabbed the machine out of the back seat, thanked her thoroughly, and made my way back to the shop, smiling the entire way.
And that’s when it happened.
My underwear fell off.
And I was wearing a skirt.
I swear these things only happen to me. I’m pretty sure no one saw it happen, but as I was standing at the sink last night washing the dinner dishes, I had an awfully vivid image in my head of the one solitary person who witnessed the event telling his entire family the story, all while choking on a full-bellied laugh.
Yeah. I’ll never understand life. But I still swear by Weight Watchers.