It’s hard to say precisely why, but in my head, Karma looks like Rhea Perlman. It’s probably because she played Carla on Cheers, and Carla kind of sounds like Karma. And Karma seems like she’d be kind of short and pixie-ish with a solid streak of sarcasm, but also kind of tender. I like Karma as Rhea Perlman. I like that Karma image better than the Anjelica Huston in The Witches version that also bounces around as an alternative in my head. That Karma seems less genuine.
Rhea Perlman Karma is the kind you can sit down and have a conversation with. Like:
Me: Hey RPK… what gives anyway?
RPK: Aw, Sweetie… I’m sorry. But I gotta do what I gotta do. Have a drink.
Me: I don’t drink.
RPK: I know.
I’m really not sure what I did to Karma, but whatever it is, I’m sure I’m sorry. Karma has really been on one lately. To be fair, I’m sure there are plenty of things I’ve done over the years to earn decades of retribution, and Karma is definitely paying me back: one stupid penny at a time.
Pennies. I find them everywhere. Not places they are supposed to be found. Places where pennies have no business. Like in the quarter jar we keep for starting the dryer. Or in a shoe I’m about to wear. Or in the middle of an otherwise pristine white tile floor of a truck stop (yeah, you can actually find pristine white tile floors in truck stops – shout out to TravelCenters of America for your almost always nice facilities).
Quick digression: Seriously, though, TravelCenters of America… what in the world possessed you to choose a giant TA for your sign? Is that just to appeal to the stereotypical dirty trucker? Because that’s all I see when I see your signs.
Back to pennies. I really hate finding them. I don’t ever look for them anymore, but I still come across them on a regular basis. I’m fairly certain that I’d be much better off without the constant threat of pennies reminding me of a time gone by and all the memories, feelings, and regrets that go with them. But Karma won’t let me off the hook that easily. And so I’m plagued with pennies.
If only it were just pennies. It isn’t. Karma kicked it up a notch last week. She added these little monsters:
I don’t care much for Boston Terriers. I never have. Even when I thought I didn’t like dogs, I tolerated most dog breeds. But not the Boston Terrier. A Boston Terrier was once responsible for putting my Dalmatian in the vet’s office with tubes in his shoulder. My neighbors’ Boston Terrier, Duffy, used to charge the fence and growl, bark, and snort at us every time we walked by. I really hated that. Later, another friend co-adopted a Boston Terrier puppy… and she wasn’t my favorite. At all. I was glad when I heard she went to live with the other adopter (or her family, or in the back of a Chinese restaurant, or wherever he said she went to live because I have ADD and tuned out of the conversation by that point because I’d already obtained the information I needed).
Last week, my first in-kennel client showed up for six weeks of training. What breed do you suppose that little bundle of joy turned out to be? Yup. A Boston Terrier. Coincidence, you say? Perhaps.
Today, a client dropped off her two dogs for training. One is a Boston Terrier. And so is the other. Like little pennies from heaven.
Oh yes, Karma has it in for me with a vengeance.