Karma the Harsh Task-Mistress Joins Forces With Even Stephen to Crush the Dreams of Genius

Oh, the irony. Maybe. Because I STILL don't know what irony is. So maybe it isn't irony at all. You'll have to be the judge. But please refrain from being the jury and executioner, because I am not about to hand over the reins to that team at this juncture.

Genius came home for the second weekend in a row. His purpose was to develop some film, and print photos he did not have time for on Easter weekend. He brought along a friend from his hall who has an interest in photography, who takes photos, but sends them off for development instead of using Val's kitchen sink and the basement darkroom wired and outfitted by Genius.

I left the developers to their own devices, and headed to town for a 44 oz. Diet Coke, and some scratch-off tickets, since it's the weekend, and celebration was in order. When I returned, I walked through the kitchen door to discover Genius sitting on the kitchen table, swinging his hairy legs, watching his minion pour developer into a container, shake it, and whatnot. I am not well-versed in the development of film.

"Excuse me, sir, but your butt is on the table. Where people eat. Where I prepare food for consumption by others on assorted holidays."

"Yes. And my butt is right beside that Oreo cake."

"Well, I don't eat Oreo cake. So I'm not really concerned about that. Here. Put my purse on that chair, since you're using my kitchen counter. Wait. Let me get my lottery tickets."

"Lottery tickets? Give me one. Let me scratch it."

"No way."

"I turned in that dollar winner I got at Easter. It won a ticket. Then that one was a loser. Here. I have five ones. Give me one of those tickets."

"But I don't WANT to give you one of my tickets. I bought them with my cache of cash from previous winners."

"Here. Give me one of those."

"But that's the set I wanted the most! I don't want you to have one of those. Here. Take one of these." Let the record show that I had four five-dollar tickets, two of one kind, two of another.

"No. That's the one I want, right there. Give me the second one."

I put Genius's five ones in the side of my purse. He commenced to scratchin'.

"Hey! That ticket is a loser. I didn't win a thing!"

"Too bad, so sad. That's why it's called a LOTTERY. Not every ticket wins. And you're NOT getting a refund."

"Come on. You took my last five ones. I need ones. What if I want to go to a strip club?"

"Nope. You're a loser. And your dad would be quite proud to find out you've been to a strip club."

"He has no idea what I do. I can't believe you won't give me my money back."

Later in the afternoon, when Genius and friend had moved their development operation to the darkroom on the other side of the wall of my dark basement lair...I scratched my remaining three tickets. "Hey! Genius! I think you picked the wrong ticket. Look at this."

"WHAT? Are you kidding me! That is so unfair! Really? FIVE TIMES FIFTEEN DOLLARS? That's seventy-five dollars! I could have had seventy-five dollars!"

"Uh huh. You had a one-in-four chance, but you had to pick the tickets I didn't want you to have. You could have had a one-in-two chance, if you'd taken a ticket I WANTED you to have!"

"Don't rub it in. SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS!"

"Well, I suppose that's karma."

Yeah. How's your butt feel after that karma bite? I suppose he shouldn't have scoffed, "I don't really care about any of the people I graduated with" when I told him he'd never guess who was working at my credit union now. And perhaps he should not, upon being told that I'd left the couch blanket right where he'd left it crumpled on the floor, tossed it over in front of the TV and said, "Now I'm leaving it over there."

Funny how Genius picked up that blanket right before he left, and folded it on the back of the couch.