PFL
Before my husband and I got married, he warned me about a curse that seems to be on his family. They lovingly refer to it as “PFL”. This abbreviation has a few different meanings: Poor Fucking Luck, Pathetic Fucking Losers, Poor Fucking Losers. Any of these descriptions pretty much sum up this strange string of unending bad luck that seems to follow my husband, his parents, and his sister and her family on an alarmingly consistent basis.
PFL has been alive and well for us pretty much since the week after we got married, starting with Matt getting bronchitis two days before we left for our honeymoon to Hawaii. Since then, any little thing that can or will go wrong typically does, whether it be a flat tire or dead car battery on the hottest AZ day of the year, items completely screwed up or left out on a trip through the Wendy’s drive-thru, or a new pair of shoes that are two different sizes. Shit like this happens on a weekly basis with us. It’s just enough to drive me a little nutty and reaffirm Matt’s belief in PFL.
When Matt first told me about PFL, I didn’t believe in it. I’ve always considered myself to be an unusually lucky person. I was kind of like a cat in that I always landed on my feet. I scoffed as he lamented the PFL and I even rubbed his tummy, saying that I was going to give him some of MY good luck. Damn, I should have kept it for myself! Because once I took on his last name, I officially became a PFL.
Tonight was a shining example of PFL at it’s finest. My in-laws decided to get my son a new toy box for Christmas. Rather than paying half the price of the product in shipping, they sent us a check and instructed us to pick a toy box up in person at the Toys R Us near our house. So this afternoon I went to the store, found the toy box that they specified in the dizzying labyrinth of a toy store, loaded the humongous box into the back of my car and brought it home. After dinner, Matt carried the box in from my car and opened it up.
Before the toy box was half-way out of it’s cardboard box, he said, “It’s pink.” In disbelief, I said, “Nuh uh!” However, sure enough, the freaking toy box lid was pink. The store carried this item in two colors; red and pink. I chose red. The outside of the box said “red”. However, what we found inside was definitely pink.
The next thing that spilled from my mouth was a screeching, “PFL!!!!!” You see, I, too, am a believer now.
Matt immediately called my mother-in-law to share the latest chapter in PFL history. She was laughing so hard on the other end of the phone that I could hear her cackling from across the room. She thanked us for deflecting a bit of the PFL from their home for the next few days. But she shouldn’t laugh too hard—all signs indicate that there is plenty of PFL to go around.
January 10th, 2008 at 12:22 pm
Keep your PFL juju away from me!!! ;P