In "Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy", they ramble on about improbabilities. Improbabilities happen to me a lot. Not once, not twice, but three times over the last 6 days as I was getting out of my car, the strap of my shoulder bag got caught on the handbrake and yanked me back into the car again.
My shoulders are obviously the same height as lots of door handles because my sleeveless tops get caught up in them as I'm walking past, and I end up with a door handle sticking out from my bra strap.
If only one tall guy walks into a theatre lobby and I'm there, too, I can swear on a stack of "Star Trek" DVDs that he is going to sit in front of me during the actual show. If I was in Las Vegas I could bet on it happening and come home with wads of cash.
Am I the only person out of thousands to plop down onto a sofa and my homing-pigeon of an elbow instantly finds the screen of my Kindle? I mean, how much sofa space was there compared to how much Kindle? Improbability-wise, my elbow had - what? - 20 times more sofa space to attack and yet it chose to find my beloved tiny e-reader.
Improbabilities, grrhhh! I'm definitely the improbability queen.
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