You know how when you have just put on a clean shirt fresh from the laundry room, and go outside to PULL YOUR TRASH DUMPSTER TO THE END OF THE LONG DRIVEWAY, and your half-heeler, half-dachshund, half-grown puppy jumps up and puts his feet on the bottom of it, his feet fresh from a dip in his swimming
Or when you drive to town for your 44 oz Diet Coke and the parking lot of your gas station chicken store is so crowded that you backtrack to get your magical elixir at Orb K, only the spigot there gives off clear fluid, so you go back to your gas station chicken store and get your soda, but get your T-Hoe blocked in by a two trucks pulling two trailers? Don't you hate it when that happens?
And how about when go to your basement mini fridge to take out your packet of knee ice that you just made fresh yesterday, even double-bagging it to guard against leaks, and it catches on an older packet of leaky knee ice and slips out of your hand and crashes onto the tile floor, and you sit down with your lunch at 2:30 with your 44 oz Diet Coke, with your knee ice on your sore joints, and then feel a trickle down the shin of your right leg? Don't you hate it when that happens?
Lucky for me, I had a spare sandwich bag on hand for just such a calamity. Though I DID have to take the ice out and re-bag it, since the other two were leaking like a sieve in a downpour. In fact, the corners were pouring water with only gravity's pull. I tried to catch as much as I could in the new bag, but water goes where water (and gravity) want it to go. Good thing I still had a paper towel laying around after the Great 44 oz Diet Coke Spill of '16.
I'm sure my luck will turn. It's EVEN Steven. Not Murphy Steven.