K8 the GR8

There’s this local group I belong to, which tries to fix local issues, such as beach clean-ups for example.  I’m its treasurer.  Sounds like an important job, doesn’t it?  Don’t be too impressed though, as there are only two of us, so it’s not like there was much choice involved. 

There was a meeting scheduled last night.  I’d been informed about this weeks beforehand and was all ready to go, but the thing is, this opportunity presented itself.  I was faced with yet another moral dilemma, having to choose between this meeting (yawn) and a Texas Hold ‘em poker game with a load of buddies in town that cropped up.  It’s very difficult to turn down a poker game with a lot of players, the €€€ potential is very tempting to a young gambler like me, and there really was no way of mixing the two, so you can probably guess which option I chose.

Thing is, though… I’m really crap at lying to people.  I had to invent an excuse and apologise profusedly, even though said meeting member didn’t seem to mind.  The guilt followed me around like a bad Guinness fart for hours. 

It occured to me that karma would make me lose in my gambling endeavours just to teach me a lesson, but as it turned out, I won!!!  I’m especially proud of this, as these other players are fierce chancers who try to poker-talk you out of every decision.  They’re the type to raise the bet to 3,000 before the flop, just to mess with your mojo, and are convinced they can read you like a book, but not this time my pretties!

Last night as I was falling asleep, I began to wonder if being such a goody-two-shoes is really a good thing.  Maybe karma doesn’t punish those who happily screw over other people for their own gain.  This revelation was still rolling around in my brain until this morning, when my come-uppance arrived.

The smell was overpowering.  Across between Booterstown at low-tide and a sewage treatment plant, I had to hunt its source, gagging and retching as I tried to smell without breathing at the same time.  The cat had shat on the mat, you see, and cat shit has to be the foulest smell known to mankind. 

So, here I was, grinning like a mad-eejit (grinning from ear to ear supresses the gag reflex, you know.  I learned that from C.S.I., thus proving that tv does have its uses.) and scraping the crappy slime off the rug gingerly with tissue paper.  When that job was done, and I was on my way to the washing-machine, I suddenly stood on something very squishy, which turned out to be regurgitated cat food.  There really is nothing like the feeling of cat vomit oozing between your bare toes. 

So that was karma’s great revenge.  I’m glad to see it has a sense of humour. 

The meeting was rescheduled for today, which I did attend, two kids in tow.  Turned out that all that was required of me was to re-shuffle the names in the bank thingybob!  That could’ve been done over the bloody phone!!!

*Bah*