Some bad luck is in the air for the latest prompt from Blackship Books!
Ever have one of those days when you really, really need everything to go right and instead it all goes horribly wrong? I had one of those days recently.
When the date for the interview for my dream job came through as Friday 13 March (the second Friday 13th in two months, by the way) my boyfriend joked that it was bound to be a disaster. Yeah, he’s the supportive type…
Of course, I told him not to be ridiculous and didn’t give it another moment’s thought. Well, not more than a couple of times a day… OK, OK, it was definitely not more than a couple of times an hour!
The night before I slept badly. I blame the macaroni cheese my boyfriend cooked as a ‘treat’ that wasn’t done until after 8pm and then sat in my stomach like a stone for the next twelve hours. I couldn’t face breakfast the next morning and I always eat breakfast. My boyfriend tempted me to toast and jam pointing out that I didn’t want to sit in the interview with my stomach growling.
I was about to pick up my slice of healthy wholemeal toast with its unhealthy layer of strawberry jam when something caught my eye. My new blouse, ironed the night before so that I wouldn’t be in a rush in the morning, was hanging over the back of the door.
“I’m just going to move my blouse,” I said, getting up.
“But it’s on the other side of the kitchen. What possible harm can it come to over there?” enquired my boyfriend.
“None, I suppose,” I admitted, sinking back into my chair. I nibbled the toast, putting it down on my plate in between mouthfuls and remaining in my seat until it was completely gone. Then I took a tea-towel and carefully wiped my hands of every trace of jam.
My boyfriend watched me with increasing amusement. “Paranoid, much?” he asked.
“I’m just not taking any chances!” I snapped back. Satisfied that there wasn’t a stray globule of jam clinging to my fingers, I got up and left the kitchen, grabbing the blouse on the way.
As I headed for the stairs, I heard a sound that made my heart sink, the sound of tearing fabric. Convinced that my blouse was in tatters I turned round, tears pricking at my eyes. The sight that met me, however, was my boyfriend doubled over with laughter and two pieces of torn material in his hands.
“Sorry… sorry…” he gasped between guffaws. “I couldn’t resist.”
I turned on my heel without saying a word and stalked up the stairs to throw the blouse on the bed. He called after me again a couple of times but seemed to get the message when I slammed the bathroom door. Part of me was afraid that the shower would choose today to go on the blink but it behaved perfectly. Perhaps today was going to go well, after all!
Oh, no, it wasn’t. Everything up to this point was just to lull me into a false sense of security.
I stepped out of the bath and reached over for the towel. Somehow, the foot that was still in the bath slipped and suddenly found myself in an untidy heap on the floor with a throbbing pain in my ankle. My boyfriend took the stairs two at a time in his anxiety to get to me. Unfortunately, he didn’t give me time to get out of the way of the door. Now I had a bruised shoulder and elbow as well as a throbbing ankle.
“Oh, er… Sorry! Let me help you up!” he cried.
The problem with him helping me was that I was still wet and slipped out of his helpful hands. I now had another bruise to add to my collection.
“Hand me the towel,” I snapped. He did so, a little sheepishly and waited while I dried off. “Now, let’s try that again,” I said.
This time, he was able to get me upright and helped me to hobble to the bedroom. There we established that the ankle didn’t look too bad but it would need to be strapped up. So, no chance of wearing my gorgeous new heels, then.
Whilst he went in search of a tubigrip, I got into my clothes and put on my make-up, at the same time mentally gauging which shoes would fit over the bandage, whilst still being appropriate for an interview. When he reappeared, I told him which pair to get out of the wardrobe, then he eased the tubigrip and my hold up over the swollen ankle and I tried the shoe. It was a bit tight but on the whole it seem
ed that it was going to work. I sighed a huge sigh of relief.
I was also very thankful that I’d done my h
I decided not to tempt fate any further and slid down the stairs on my backside. The latest bruise protested but at least I didn’t end up at the bottom with a broken leg!
“Are you going to be OK on the bus?” my boyfriend asked, suddenly.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I can walk on it; I just need to give myself plenty of time.”
“Are you sure? I can give you a lift if you need me to. I’ll just let work know I’ll be a bit late.”
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, love, but I’ll manage. Now, I’d better set off.” I checked my bag for purse, keys, phone, lipstick, spare hold ups. “Oh, where’s…”
Before I could finish the sentence I realised that he was holding out the invitation that had all the details of exactly where the interview was taking place.
I smiled as I took it from him. “Thanks, love!” I gave him a final kiss and left.
I managed to get on the bus with no difficulties. The fact that it broke down ten minutes later and that it took the bus company over an hour to send a replacement is neither here nor there. I rang the number on the invitation and explained the situation and they agreed to put my interview time back.
And, somehow, I managed to impress them into giving me the job!