Bad things come in threes, or fours

Jōb and I had a great thing happen this weekend, surprisingly, as we do appear to be the unluckiest couple on the planet, our oldest son decided to be baptized. We had family come into town, we had the ceremony to oversee, programs to print, we had a luncheon to plan at our home afterward, it was a busy week. We were excited and felt that he was making the right decision. Funny how when you decide to do the right thing it all starts to fall apart. The day before the baptism I needed to get my sister, who had been staying with us, to the airport. All I had to do was throw her bag in the car and pick her up at her conference and head the last twenty miles to the terminal. I forgot her bag. I sped home. Picked it up, returned to get her, but all in vain. She missed her flight. The next available flight wasn't until 7a.m. the next morning. When I called Jōb to tell him he informed me he had gotten pulled over doing "78 in a 60". Jōb's driving record leaves a lot to be desired. When I finally got home (with my sister) Jōb had dinner all under control, family was arriving by the van full and I was feeling like a complete looser. But, at least I wouldn't have to cook. I did however have to go to subway and buy a bunch of footlongs after the grease fire that turned the ribs into charcoal briquettes sitting on top of the brand new gas grill that was practically engulfed in flames. My sister did her best to make me feel better, and jokingly said, "well at least no one sat on the cake," that we had picked up from the bakery earlier that day for the baptism, and "pretended" to sit on the cake. Her pretend sit turned into a real sit and his cake had a cute little butt print on the right side. It is a good thing she has a tiny rear end. Whoever said bad things come in threes, Jōb and I prove it repeatedly.