Hitting the Trifecta

Let's see . . .  three days ago I had an argument with a woman that I had never seen before about how my car was legally parked on a public street.  Two days ago I went to war with the condo association president on the mechanics of getting my stuff out of my own private residence into my own private car.  And yesterday SuperK and The Stager ganged up on me over the placement of one of the few pieces of furniture left in my home; I wanted it left alone, they wanted it gone.

I lost my temper.  I said some very bad words as I yanked the chair through the front door and into the back of my truck.  I wrenched my back; I banged the chair against the door frame which didn't do either the chair or the frame any good; and now I have a chair taking up most of the available room in my vehicle.

Smooth move, McCool.

I composed myself, came back inside, and apologized immediately.

"I was trying not to laugh," quoth SuperK.  She knows not to laugh in my face when I've got a good rage going on but doesn't feel any compulsion about not laughing behind my back.  That's fine with me - if I don't know it's going on I don't care about it.  It does not exist.

Needless to say, I was firmly thrown out of the house this morning.  Actually, SuperK and I get along so well that the ejection is usually along the following lines:

"Should I walk down the block and get a cup of coffee?"
"Yes."
"I'll be gone about an hour, maybe an hour and a half?"
"Good."
"You're sure that's OK?"
"Yes."

I called my Old City sponsor before I left.

"Wow," he said.   It's never a good thing when your sponsor says "Wow."  
"Three times in three days.  You hit the trifecta.  Maybe you should head over to the horse track and see if there's a horse running called Angry Dude or Furious Dude or something like that."

Always has something bright to say, that guy.