But with my luck...

It's a classic phrase in our family, as shared genes ensured we would all enjoy the delight of world-off-axis luck. It peppers the end of many sentences and if there's decent, unlaminated wood around, we're a group of hard-core knockers.

Example: For the last six years, I've wanted to rid the enclosed porch of the dinky mutant fridge we've been afraid to toss (because during the apocalypse, our household would be saved by having somewhere ancient to hide). Having come with the house, it's yellow (which is the first thing the manufacturers did wrong) and roughly the size of the common aardvark. Undersized lettuce feels cramped in this thing. We'd bought a shiny new energy star fridge, tall and gleaming white and the butternut munchkin was assigned eternal guard duty on the porch.

Yesterday, my seester and brother in law gave up a portion of their day to remove said unwanted monstrosity. YIPPEE!!! Bulk item trash day isn't for another week, so I figured (as delusional people do) that it could sit for a week out in the open for all to see what I've endured (avert your eyes!) and soon it would be gone.

But with my luck...

We got a wind storm today. YIPP-freaking-EE!!! A rip-snorter, as dad would say, that is sure to blow the yellow mutant over and into the street, thus (with my luck) landing on a passing motorcyclist who (with my luck) is an accident lawyer. Then I'll wind up (with my luck) living in the fridge prior to the coming apocalypse because (with my luck) it's too ugly to be kept in the evidence locker.