Murphy's Law

I guess it makes sense that I would be so excited to get my motorcycle gear, only to find out that one of the items is on backorder, and it just so happens to be my helmet--that which I ACTUALLY LEGALLY NEED to ride on the back of Nolan's bike. I guess until that finally is shipped, I'll just parade around the house in my motorcycle jacket wistfully.

Nolan is winding down with his dreaded rotation that he is on right now, and has been desperate to get more sleep and be able to spend a day working on a new rotation. He usually vents by either cocooning himself in our covers, or by sitting on the counter and whining, or like this morning, singing every sad rap song he can think of loudly, complete with dance moves while he gets dressed. This morning as I was putting on my makeup, I heard a building verse from "Gangsta's Paradise" getting louder and louder until the bathroom door swung open and Nolan pointed the airsoft gun (unloaded; I hide the ammo because of these such instances) at me, still singing the chorus. Hhhh. Hospital, I implore you.