So, I have a new definition of bad luck. The previous definition/creepy coinicidence occured two days ago. On the twelfth day of the twelfth month of the year twenty-twelve (12-12-12), the twelfth of my frighteningly expensive beef calves died a most inconvenient death.
My pessimistic side found this to be rather unsettling. My optimistic side (the part that is crazy enough to be in the cattle business) decided that it was a sign that no more would die and the rest of the herd would be lazy, happy, fat, and very much alive on shipping day in far away March when they will become someone else’s problem and I will no longer be broke.
But of course, I am a writer, so optimism is a necessary survival trait and so is the ability (or possibly level of insanity) to put a lot of money, time, heartache, and headache into something more than just a little risky. It’s just like the cattle business only you make more money…
Bad Luck Part 2: The Revision
What can surpass the many twelves definition? Probably nothing. I really hope nothing. But for tonight, I have a temporary replacement.
Bad luck is when you are torquing the bolts on the oil pan of the 68 mustang and you twist one off. Your brother (and partner in cars) complains and gets rather upset about this broken bolt. His is correct in the determination that this in not at all good.
He proceeds to tighten the rest of the bolt himself. Shortly, he makes an unhappy noise that in any movie or book would have been a long and furious shouting of expletives. He has, himself, twisted another pan-bolt off.
In attempted humor, and to downplay the severity of his error, you joke that “It wasn’t next to the other broke one, right?”
He sighs and you realize that indeed Murphy was doing his job. One bolt gone, on the side, with a very nice rubber (not stupid cork!) gasket, can possibly be ignored and cause no problems. Two bolts twisted off, right next to each other, the odds of a successful seal is dramatically reduced.
So here’s to the long shot, maybe it will leak no oil. Onward!