Murphy’s Law, for example, is a toxic sump of an idea. Actually, I know Murphy. Used to drink with him at a bar in Baltimore. “Whatever can go wrong will go wrong,” he droned. “And at the worst possible time.”
“Not necessarily,” I riposted. “I’ve just had a day in which everything went right.” I’d moved through the day with the dexterity of Fred Astaire moving through an RKO storyline. There was dignity in every encounter, subplots resolved, schedules clicked. When I craved a soft drink and the machine wanted 60¢, there in my pocket were two quarters and a dime. That kind of day.
“Just lucky,” harrumphed Murphy.
“Aw lighten up, Murphy,” I told him. “The antithesis of your squalid Law is that when things finally do go right, it’ll happen with such luminescence that it buries the angst.”
Murphy glared at me, belligerent with drink. “Since when are you Mr. Sunny Disposition?” He ordered another dram and a hamburger, managing to spill ketchup on his vest. “Blast! Just before an important appointment.”
“Well you now what they say. ‘Whatever can go wrong –‘”
“Aw shaddup. You got a handkerchief?”
Murphy’s not a bad guy but he has no more standing to make Law than you or I. Just remember, when things go right, it’ll happen resplendently.
It’s not a law, but you can take my word for it.
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