It's always Time for a Han Solo Moment

So in the past eight weeks we've had the car overheat, lice, strep, both ovens of the double oven die, signed student loans, dealt with an air conditioner deciding it wasn't going to start for the summer.  This list doesn't include the mental drama of having four teens at home, two with jobs that mean we're playing taxi shuttle at five in the morning and 11:30 at night.  

The kids have begun a campaign for a dog.   We need to repair the stoop, paint the upstairs, and redo the downstairs bathroom.   Strangle vine and Satan's lettuce is cropping up all over our flower gardens. Trump and Hillary are the two presumptive nominees.  Stinkbugs are eating our tomatoes.  I gained three pounds after starting daily use of a fitbit.   The computer is showing early signs of rebellion.   We only have six or seven weeks left of summer.

Job hunting has thus far yielded a need to get more documentation.

And this morning, I cracked a tooth...on milk chocolate.  I bit and wondered because I knew the bar didn't have nuts, but something crunched.  It was me.

My family has a forbidden saying.  It's prohibited because saying it invokes the world to test just how much one is willing to suffer.   It begins with..."If this is the worst it gets..."  and no one ever dares to finish the phrase, because we don't want the powers that be to see what might happen if worse than however worse it has become, happens.   Murphy's law is always in force and enforced.

So to the universe, first of all, the position of Job has already been filled.
Secondly, I do not in any way, want the job being Job.

Third, if this is the worst it gets...I just want the world to know...