Voodoo

I have a gift. Well, a gift and a curse. Sometimes when I really don’t want to do something the universe will coalesce in such away that I get out of whatever it is I don’t want to do. Maybe I don’t want to go to an appointment and the person I was supposed to meet conveniently has an auto accident (nothing serious) and we have to reschedule. Maybe a friend annoys me and, strangely, odd pieces of his vehicle start falling off. Or, maybe I’m angry at my hubby and for a week he repeatedly bangs his knee into things.

Today I was mad at the phone. It had failed me. I’m sure most of you have figured out that my husband works in law enforcement. Officer B works the evening shift. He leaves for work before I get home and he doesn’t get off of work until after I’m asleep. This makes our lives weird in a plethora of ways. Simple things like what to make for dinner, and when, and how much, become maddeningly complicated. Evenings out with friends – rarer than solar eclipses. Communicating important information like “I spent $40 dollar on shoes today. Please deduct from budget,” often falls through the cracks.

Most days the telephone is how we stay in touch. Only lately, my conversational skills have atrophied. I get all excited about calling him but then I can’t think of any thing to say. I feel dumb in a girlie sort of way. I get frustrated. In my overly superstitious mind I decide it’s the phone's fault.

Yep, you guessed it. My phone died. No lights. No music. Nada.

The question is how do I explain to Officer B that I need a new phone because the old one failed to inspire sparkling repartee and I voodoo’d it?

P.S. (2 hours later) Good news! It decided to resurrect! I should probably delete this post so, there's no incriminating evidence . . . nah, I always tell on myself anyway. Plus, it'll make a good icebreaker when I call him this evening.