Three Is NOT The Most Charming Number

I have come to wholeheartedly believe that luck - be it good or bad - comes in threes. Yesterday was the day of proof. 

We woke up in the morning expecting a relaxing Saturday. We were going to cut our hair, run some errands, then see one of my most favouritist of my mother's friends in the evening. My mother decided we should leave the house around noon to avoid the early afternoon traffic, both at the hairdresser's and on the road. Meanwhile, my genius friend by the name of Roonies decides to give me a call. 

"Eureka, you're going to grad school with me. I'm going to start studying for my GMAT's right after Ramadan, and I ordered these great books online. The grand total is US$315. Order them and we can study together."

"Ok Roonies, your wish is my command. You are the all-knowing and all-acing one. I can only study for my GMAT's if it is with you. I cannot do this alone. You will make me work hard."

In all fairness, Roonies wasn't so forceful in her delivery. I choose to make her sound so bossy because I'm the idiot for following her blindly. But the woman is a goddamn certified genius. I'd be stupid NOT to follow her blindly. Then again, I am not a genius. I am neither intelligent enough to make a rational decision for my wellbeing that isn't imposed upon me, nor am I intelligent enough to manage the GMAT's at all, let alone on my own with no teacher or guidance from Roonies. I can't sit still to study for ten minutes without needing to take a lap around the room. And the kitchen. Give me a novel, on the other hand, and I won't budge off my fat buttocks all day. How can I be expected to study for a test that is mostly maths/mathemetically-inclined logic and is aptitude-corrected? OR whatever that the computer decides how smart/dumb the questions should be based on your answers system is called. 

So, dutiful mimicker that I am, I get online and order the books. In the meantime, my mother is hollering at me because it is noon and I am still in my pyjamas. I make a mad dash for the bathroom, get dressed, and am ready in about ten seconds, although I look like something the Sarah Palin (i.e. the pitbull - I figured that one needed explaining) dragged in. 

That is the first dose of misfortune of the day. US$ 315 that could have been spent on books I actually wanted. Or jeans. Or a bag. Or both if they're on sale. This is the true level of my intellect. You all know it because my true colours shine through on this blog. I don't know how I got away with pretending to be brilliant and intellectual all these years. 

The second unfortunate event is the disaster the hairdresser calls a haircut on my head. It is a dead sheepdog puppy disguised as a wig in the shape of a muffin top on my head. With a much too short fringe, which is really the poor puppy's tail flicking across my face. Poor dog must be almost as uncomfortable as I am. Sad because this guy gave me a great haircut last time. Is there no consistency left in this world? 

Third is the splitting headache I was suffering from all evening. Yes, headaches are generally unfortunate occurrences, but this is an especially unfortunate event because I was looking forward to spending time with my mother's friend, who is one of my three non-biological mothers and a woman I rarely get to see. She's a university professor lecturing on Arab History and is phenomenal. And the sweetest woman in the world. One day I hope to be half the person she is. 

Sucks to be me yesterday. But aside from those three downers, I had a decent day. My hair will grow out and the Swede will probably buy the books off me. I still had a decent evening with my mum(s) and laughed enough to last a week. So all's well that ends well. 

That was my uneventful weekend. How was yours?