Good morning guys and gals!
It’s been a while since I’ve ranted about nothing, or something that should have really been nothing. And though today I had full intention of writing frightening death threats to the cafeteria crew for not having any coffee available in the cafeteria this morning, and once again for the scare of them not being functional in any capacity today, the heavens opened up and shone a ray of light dressed in the same garments as a bitch named Karma, when I received an unexpected instant message from a relative telling me that someone who wronged me in the not-so-distant past was getting a taste of her own medicine while choking nearly to death on a thick, unsweetened slice of humble pie. The good news of her bad luck shielded the cafeteria crew from my angry, hungry wrath.
Words could not express the joy that flooded my soul. Sure. I know I’m wrong for wishing ill on a bad luck charm dressed in women’s clothes. I know I’m wrong for not wanting to see or encourage her to pick herself up by her size 875,965,225,852 ½ bootstraps and turn her miserable, crumbling life around. I know I’m wrong for missing breakfast…oh wait…wrong story.
The bottom line is, even though I know I’m wrong for being happy about Karma spitting in her coffee, I’m satisfied because I took my own advice and avoided flattening her tires and spray painting her automobile windshield black. Instead, I waited for her to step in her own pile of smelly doo-doo. And I find great pleasure in knowing that’s there’s not much she can do to undo the doo-doo she dun done.
Karma is like a rubber band. You can only stretch it but so far before it snaps back and smacks you in the face.