I don’t know anything about the person who drafted Murphy’s Law, but I suppose I wouldn’t be partial to him or her. It seems to me that if the notion that “anything that can go wrong will” weren’t floating around out there in the atmosphere circumstances wouldn’t feel they were at liberty to wheedle a person’s nerves. There are few things that have the ability to work me up into a frothing frenzy faster than problematic bills and issues with our medical insurance. More often than not, these bills or insurance statements that claim “THIS IS NOT A BILL”, which they may as well be, arrive in the mailbox on weekends. Murphy knows well and good that my insurance company does not field phone calls on weekends. That means I have to wait until Monday to straighten out the problem that looms over my head like a giant black anvil or a sleek grand-piano waiting to smoosh my cartoonish form into a flat pancake. I really find it that stressful. On the brighter side, my little boy had a raging fever for one day and then it magically disappeared. Thank the Lord. So far no one else has exhibited any signs of sickness. I’m having myself fitted for laser beam eyes just in case that darn Murphy tries to show up to wave his magic wand and cause the rest of the family to become ill with typhoid fever or something; that way I can blast him and hopefully put an end to his maniacal dealings once and for all.