So, I’ve been accused by a certain Blackhawk pilot of writing stuff that’s a little too heavy, and that maybe I should try writing something a little lighter from time to time. Quote: “I mean, Schindler’s List is a good movie, but I don’t want to watch it every day.” So, I thought I’d try to write about funny things my kids do or something like that. Well, the opportunity for hilarity popped up on my Facebook newsfeed a few days ago, and it. was. glorious!
My friend Charlotte, who was our neighbor in flight school, has a little girl named Chloe. Chloe invented the best new word on the planet. “DISASTROPHE.” Part disaster, part catastrophe. Disastrophe.
You guys, the opportunities to use this new word are limitless. Starbucks spells your name wrong? Disastrophe. Those cute flats are sold out in your size? Disastrophe. Your shorts from last year are too tight? (Just me?) Disastrophe.
The comments on her post were hysterical, as people wrote their definitions of disastrophe, or gave examples of what qualifies as a disastrophe. As I read them, I decided to blog (with Charlotte's permission to steal her child's genius word!) about some disastrophes I’ve experienced as a wife, mom, and human being. Because sometimes the poop hits the fan and things just don’t go our way.
Disastrophe One: That time Downton Abbey killed Matthew Crawley.
What the actual what?! How do you kill the sweetest man alive? Who else will love the snotty Lady Mary? I mean, he OVERCAME PARALYSIS and they just killed him. On the day his baby was born. I know life isn’t fair, and the actor who played him didn’t want to be Matthew Crawley anymore, but come on, DA. Also, this episode aired in the UK on CHRISTMAS. Happy Holidays, Matthew is bleeding from his head. Disastrophe.
Disastrophe Two: That Time I Met My Hero and Made a Complete FOOL of Myself.
You can read my blogabout it, or you can just read these few lines about how I met Jen Hatmaker outside of a bathroom by accident, and instead of just saying “hello,” and having my picture taken with her, I looked like a fangirling moron and a semi-stalker. I said she was like Peyton Manning. She was inching away from me, you guys. I cringe and turn red every time I think about it. Disastrophe.
Disastrophe Three: That Time All the Legal Documents Read“Hoseph.”
We thought about selling our rental house in Alabama for about a minute last week. When the realtor sent us the paperwork to sign, all of the places for Joe to sign were written “Hoseph.” You guys, I can’t even tell you how freakin’ funny it was to read “Hoseph” all over the place! I mean, we get to call him “Hoe” for short. The best thing ever to me. For Joe, you guessed it, disastrophe.
Disastrophe Four: That Time the Seahawks Passed Instead of Handing Off to Marshawn Lynch in the Superbowl.
You guys. I just don’t even know what to say about that play that hasn’t already been said. Oh, wait. Yes I do. It was a disastrophe.
The last and final Disastrophe: That Time I had Bad Hair.
(Sorry not sorry to the three boys in this photo. You didn't have traumatic mushroom hair, so you make the blog. Love you guys.)
As someone with two mothers (step and biological), it’s an absolute travesty that at some point someone allowed me to look like a mushroom. My head resembles a character from Super Mario Bros. It was a home perm disastrophe. (My moms are okay though. This hair is only mildly traumatic and has never been mentioned in therapy or anything. Swear.)
I feel like disastrophies can come in varying degrees. Sometimes they’re miniature and you need to eat a Hersheys kiss to survive them. Other times they’re full-blown, level ten emergencies that require more than one bottle of Moscato and a good girlfriend to talk to.
So, now I’m dying to know. What do you consider a disastrophe? I can’t wait to read your comments!