I don't think it's because I dye my hair red.
But it helps.
I don't think it's because I still find Desi Arnaz one smokin' piece of ass.
But it might be part of it.
I don't think it's because my mother sat me in front of I Love Lucy reruns endlessly from birth.
But it certainly started me on the path.
You see, it appears that (despite the fact that I was born before she died) I am the reincarnation of Lucille Ball. Or more accurately: the reincarnation of the fictional Lucille McGillicuddy Ricardo.
This morning proves it.
Last week I bought a gorgeous new couch. Big sale + Income tax refund = new couch. I only ever seem to buy furniture with tax refunds. It's a thing.
This morning the new couch was being delivered. Because my apartment is smallish and the hallway narrow and odd, it seemed to me that the best thing I could do was to move the old couch (which in reality is a love seat) out before the delivery men got here with the new one. I managed to get it out of the living room, out the doorway (which is really tough because my neighbor's door and mine virtually meet in a point at the end of the hall) and down to the stairs.
I was so damned thrilled with the fact that I got the thing out to the stairway that it seemed I could certainly get it down one measly flight of stairs. By myself.
Yes I got it down the first section of the stairway but then there's this pesky narrow landing and turn to get down the last section of the stairs. And that is where pseudo-Lucy got stuck. Not just the couch, though of course it too was stuck, but me. I managed to pin myself between the couch and the stair rail. *sigh*
I had my cellphone with me and started a mad attempt to reach anyone who might come help me or alternatively, get a huge laugh out of the situation. My friend Rafael txted me "sorry Lucy, I have to rehearsal of a new conga song - you're on your own, Ricky."
Even as I was stuck under a love seat that was blocking the entire stairway, praying no one was still home and would want to actually use the stairs, I was laughing. Because, "It's Just so ridiculous!"
Typically there was one person who actually did want to use the stairs. It was my upstairs neighbor. He managed to slide through the narrow space between the couch and the rail without much trouble, but talk about embarrassing. For me, I mean.
By the time the delivery men showed up (on time I might add!) I had managed to get out from under the crafty couch trap and since I was unable to get back up and past the couch I just greeted them at the front door. I explained the couch/stairs situation... They laughed and within 2 minutes had dislodged the damned thing and put it out on the curb for me. God love 'em.
But then the trouble really began. Seems the new couch is just a scootch (and I do mean barely a scootch) too big to get through my door - because of the previously noted weirdly angled doorway arrangement.
These guys tried their damnedest but it wasn't gonna happen.
They did have an alternative.
They had other deliveries to make so they left the couch in the hallway and they're coming back around 4pm. they're going to attempt to get the couch in the apartment from the fire-escape.
I may be Lucy, but in these three furniture delivery men I have clearly found my Ethel.
Basil's waiting. Me too.