Here’s why I think karma exists, and why she is a woman scorned like which hell hath no. Proof #1: When I was a kid, I went to horseback riding camp one summer, and one of my counselors got her period and spent the day in bed, curled up with her arms over her abdomen and crying. I remember thinking that she was really milking it, and it was “just a period.” I don’t think I had ever seen my mom complain about cramps, so I didn’t think it could possibly be such a big deal. Then I got my period, and endometriosis, and yes, every month I was sure it was the end of the world and I was dying, and I would do exactly the same thing, mixed with a little time spent vomiting in the bathroom, just for good measure. 20 something years, surgery, multiple hormone injections and pills, and several types of homeopathic/naturopathic remedies later, I STILL have some pretty hideous cramps – sometimes period related, sometimes not. It is more under control than it used to be, but every time it happens now, I think back to that poor counselor and how quickly and cruelly I judged her. Karma -1, Emily – 0.
Proof #2: Also when I was a kid, my best friend and I decided to hold her black lab, Sophie, down in the bathroom and paint the poor thing’s toenails. Fast forward to this summer, and the same friend and I met up at her parent’s house to play with her kids. My god daughter is 3 and is pretty sure that I’m a Disney princess or Goddess or something (when she sees Gisele Bundchen on a billboard she points and says, “Auntie Em!” because, apparently, I have grown at least a foot and gotten implants all while staying the same weight) , and when she saw that I had lavender toenails, she, of course, desperately wanted them, too. So we sent her dad out to CVS to pick up some nail polish. He came back with a dark purple, and while it wasn’t quite what she’d hoped, we agreed that if we had matching toenails, that would still be pretty darn cool. So we went into the bathroom (yes, the one where we’d held poor Sophie down) and I painted her teeny tiny toenails. I started to do mine but realized it wasn’t going to be much fun for her to sit there and watch, so I put some toilet paper down, handed her the paintbrush, and said, “Go for it, kid!” I even let her do a second coat. This is what she did.
I’m kind of up in the air about the karma on this one, though. In some ways, karma paid me back for painting Sophie’s toenails, but I think letting my god daughter make my toes look like someone had taken a meat cleaver to them kind of balances things out. So on this one, I’m going with Karma – 1, Emily – 1.