It's not me. It's you.

that's 7 years of bad luck mister.

We had a lovely day yesterday, celebrating the start of over-the-top christmas season in manhattan. I think i had forgotten that now that i live here, i get to celebrate every single gosh darned minute of abundant cheer, window displays, and christmas tree lightings.

Most excitedly, I finally purchased the two items that were most notably missing from our lovely home-- (no, not a living room. if only bed bath & beyond sold living rooms.) a full-length mirror and a toaster. No more soggy bread for me! I thought. No more checking my outfit in the reflection on the subway every morning, when it is too late to go back and find a pair of pants that look decent! It was an exciting moment.

Then came the task of taking a full-length mirror and a toaster home on the subway. Naturally, I got stuck in the subway turnstile at the 6 ave. station. Good and stuck, half way through. I stopped to consider the situation, gingerly watching the angle of my huge mirror, the turnstile handles, and my stuck self. I was trying to work out whether i need to inch forward or backward to solve my situation when suddenly out of nowhere a man rushed over to help. Before I could say anything he impulsively PUSHED realllllly hard on the mirror. A MIRROR! stuck in a subway turnstile. WHY WOULD YOU PUSH ON IT? A deafening crack was instantly heard as the mirror I had waited six months to own shattered. "Its ok." I told the man glumly, sounding like Eeyore who had lost his tail, now free from the turnstile to take the broken remainder down the stairs with me.

We're in better shape now than we were before. Now I can check my top half in one mirror, than rush out into the hall and look at my bottom half there, in the over-the-door-broken-mirror leaned gingerly against the wall.

posted by k. @ 1:41 PM