Artists call them happy accidents. A blob of cobalt blue grabs onto the paintbrush when you were dipping into the cerulean, turns into an awesome lake below that Provençal sky, and rocks the watercolor landscape. Never mind that you were going abstract. The painting has a life of its own.
So it is when this guy you have lined up for a quick fuck turns out to be Prince Charming. You make a grab for the red lace but end up with a maternity bra and elastic-waist undies. Mortgage, braces, college tuition. You wish you could say you’d had it planned, but we all know you just caught a lucky break. And of course you flaunt it. Who wouldn’t? Only someone who’d actually deserved it would be humble and self-effacing. Not you. In your face, betches.
Now, and here’s the unforgiveable part, you’ve bought it, hook, line and sinker. Benevolent universe bestows wealth of love and inner peace upon walking disaster. What’s not to love? So you begin fiddling with the cornerstones of your life, changing the very shape of your existence to reflect this incomprehensible gift. It’s scary, but Prince Charming is right next to you, laughing his ass off, setting out the cement mixer and stacking up the bricks.
You forget about the things artists don’t mention. Some are called Canvas in the Fireplace or Manuscript in the Toilet. Others have headlines like Barbiturates in the Vodka or Razorblades in the Bath. Prince Charming’s oncologist called it the Luck of the Draw. You can call it anything you want, though. It’s still just the fat lady singing.
So, the landscape you were painting goes all abstract on you. The sky that’s supposed to be cerulean turns a yellow paisley, and the lake you want to drown in skates away, leaving skid marks on the checkerboard floor. When all you ever hear anymore is one long, sad aria, there’s nothing left to do but yawp that fat bitch off the fucking stage.
Exactly 333 for who offers us LUCKY (adjective) 3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable