Weird things about me that I bet you didn't know

When I saw Po on Friday I told her that one of the reasons I am afraid to abandon myself to happiness is because every time I admit that I am truly happy something shitty happens. The last time I was really, really happy was when Michael and I went to a nearby park and he took those dorky photos of me on the slides and the little horse and I took pictures of my feet when I was on the swing. On Facebook my caption was "T- is on the upswing". Then my dad died. It's not the first time that's happened. I mean, never to such a magnitude as what happened in August, but there have been days when I've admitted that I'm really happy and then something pretty crappy has happened. So I keep a low profile on that front.
On the flip side? A lot of good things happen to me often. I get a lot of lucky breaks. People ought to rub my belly. I haven't done anything exceptional in my life in any regard, and yet I'm sitting pretty and I have a great life and I luck into jobs and into money and into going to Boston (okay, I did have to practice a bit for that one) and, to date, I haven't had any communicable diseases which is pretty awesome.
I think what this means is that I'm supposed to be content and to continue to revel in the unbelievable stroke of good luck I've had in my life, but to not get too greedy with my happiness quotient, because then something bad will happen.
Also? Elevator doors randomly open for me, and when I lived in Kerrisdale, streetlights would light up as I approached them when I was out running. Seriously.
Today Michael and I went out to try and find a solid wood door for my bedroom (long story) and after that we went to Superstore (HIS IDEA) and it was mental because... whatever. He's all like, "I want my own buggy because I want to shop independently" because I guess I would keep him from browsing the magazine section and from spending too much time feeling melons or whatever. So I was like, "Whatever. I just need some spinach, milk and coffee". I cannot begin to tell you what a debacle it was. I managed to get the milk and coffee but there was no spinach. How is this possible? In something called a "Superstore"? I just want some goddamn spinach. The store was so big that I ended up buying anti-aging face cream because it was there. And, as I was doing my independent shopping my phone rings twice and it's Michael asking where I am. The first time I'm in the cosmetics department, so he comes over to show me some literature he found on Lasqueti (which, granted, is notoriously hard to find). The second time I'm in the deli section and, lo and behold, he has more Lasqueti literature. Sadly, my dad's house (an Edwardian house which he barged from Vancouver to Lasqueti in the '80's) wasn't mentioned, but tons of other stuff was. It was a bit weird that a gargantuan grocery store was carrying books that mentioned Lasqueti a lot.
Anyways, I stressed that we were supposed to be doing independent shopping (by this point I was getting cranky for a myriad of reasons that aren't worth getting into here) and I headed for the checkout. The cashier was in training. He grabbed my yam and said, "Ma'am, what is this?". A lot of different thoughts went through my head, but I managed to say, "I'm pretty sure it's a yam". My alternative replies were, "It's whatever is cheaper: a yam; a sweet potato; or a lychee nut" and "It's a chicken". Ah. Actually, he was trying so hard to be jovial and he had acne so I'm a bitch for even bringing it up because I'd rather kill myself than be jovial and I get acne before I get my period and it's like, hi, I'm 31, what is this shit?
The main thrust of this post (which is totally going nowhere, except to say that I put some creamed horseradish in my soup tonight and it was frickin' awesome) is that after I went through the check out I called Michael and then noticed he was a couple of checkouts over and I said, "What was the damage?" and he said "Sixty eight dollars" and I said, "Fuck off" and my bill was sixty eight dollars too.