Cursed

Do you ever feel that you are stricken by a curse you can't abolish?

You can count the Observatorio guilty as charged. My curse: spills. For years, I have been blessed with an uncontrollable mess-making affliction. Don't let me get near a freshly cleaned rug. Red wine and white carpet, forget about it. Not to mention the mud tracks all over the house. You can almost count the seconds on one hand. It's like that movie The Goonies. Hand me something you want to be broken, start counting to yourself, and ... CRASH!!!

I had the severe misfortune tonight of being the laughing stock of the party. Heaven forbid I carry a plate full of pasta more than three feet without spilling half of it all over the floor. Perhaps I am just followed around by a ghost that has nothing more to do in the afterlife than make me drop stuff.

To those whom I have demonstrated my curse: please accept my apologies. Broken glasses, plates, family heirlooms; none are safe from the dreaded curse that plagues me. You would do well to childproof your home before requesting the pleasure of my presence at your humble abode. You know who you are. I will not mention any names, for fear that my curse might permeate your little slice of heaven.

Do yourself a favor and watch the movie The Pink Panther. There is a scene where the great inspector Jaques Clouseau gets home from a hard day's sleuthing. He takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat rack. It falls to the floor. He disregards it and takes off his gloves and puts them on the shelf. They fall to the floor. He gets a little frustrated, picks them all up and tries to put them back on the shelf. They fall back to the floor. He then takes off his trench coat and hangs it on the coat rack. The coat rack basically disintigrates, and everything falls to the floor. He throws his hands up in disgust and leaves it all in a heap at the bottom of the closet. It seems that everything this man touches loses the will to be solid and becomes a mass of jelly.

The curse continues.