The Girlfriend of Doom

So my brother has been casually dating this girl for like the past year. Sure, she seems like a nice enough girl...goes to church, has a job and an education, doesn't wear thigh high hooker boots and a lot spandex. You know, a real take-home-to-meet-the-family type of girl. Unfortunately, I don't think that their relationship is really going to work out for me.

Why, you ask?

Because she is the girlfriend of doom. EVERY and I mean EVERY time we've been together destruction has followed. For instance the night I met her I was wearing a full on pirate eye patch. No, it wasn't Halloween. It was last spring. That morning I sliced my eye open, which made it swell making me look like Quasimodo's cousin. Then to compound the situation it wept non-stop and became unbearably sensitive to light. Hence the pirate patch given to me by the eye doctor. I have no doubt that her first impression was overwhelmingly positive.

Other coincidental gems soon followed. Including freezing wind up the canyon blowing our picnic away in the dark while I sat in the van with two very cold, crying, and unhappy children, the time she came over and my house was covered from the kitchen to the front door in pumpkin guts courtesy of Jon, Simon and the electric drill, or my personal favorite---the time she came for dinner and our homemade pizzas CAUGHT ON FIRE in my oven. Oh, that was awesome. Nothing impresses potential girlfriends like eating $5 Little Ceasers pizza in a smoked filled house more than an hour after arriving for dinner. (At least I wasn't wearing my eye patch that night.)

More stellar accounts could be listed but suffice it to say that our meetings have not gone well. So it is with great trepidation that I announce she will be here again tomorrow night for games. What will it be this time? Another flat tire? Will one of her pets attack me? I know, maybe this time it will be barf instead of spit globs on our game.

The suspense is killing me...