Author Archives: Lady Luck

About Lady Luck

They call me lady luck. But there is room for doubt.

“Delicate” Situations


I would have found something racier, but I feel like searching for anything other than "sexy undies" would have turned up porn pictures.

I have a pretty good life. My problems are what folks on the internets these days call First World Problems. Thus, my problems aren’t really problems at all, just some trivial shit I want to rant about because I honestly have nothing worth complaining about. Luckily, I love to complain. Cue hilarious problems.

My primary residence these days is foggy old Londontown. I live in sin with my boyfriend… and his mother. You know, as hip young ladies in tough economic times do. And I won’t lie–it’s pretty awesome. She’s wonderful, and I get to experience lots of luxuries that most students do not: lower rent, home-cooked meals freshly prepared every night, occasional rides in a vehicle which is not part of the public transportation system, and laundry services.

Which brings me to my problem, which has been an ongoing conundrum for me. What do you do with your sexy underwear when your boyfriend’s mother does all the laundry? 

Seriously. And since England is a place that sees dryers as evil, energy-wasting appliances, things get hung on the drying rack for several days. In the kitchen. Where we eat our meals. And watch the TV which is right next to the drying rack where my sexy undies would be on display.

What to do? I can’t really do my own laundry, because it’s just too much of an inconvenience for everyone if I hog the washing machine for a load or two– there is a laundry schedule for the house, and I can’t disrupt the whole thing to wash a load of delicates. I could always hand-wash them in the bathroom sink, and hang them to dry in the bedroom–but then I’ll look like an uber-weirdo if someone wanders in and sees loads of lacy underpants hanging from the mantle of the fireplace. It would look like we live in some sort of little perv den.

So I just sort of gave up on undies for the year. It’s not like I own any weird things (like crotchless or edible panties). I’m just too damn prudish to hang something sexy, red, and lacy out for the house’s inhabitants to view during dinner.

When summer break rolled around, I got excited and packed up all my sexy undies, so I could wear them on a whim this summer and wash them at my own free will in my giant American appliances. Then I realized that my parents still require my boyfriend and I to sleep in separate rooms. GOODBYE, SEXYTIME. Sexy undies, you time will come eventually.

Sigh. What sort of First World Problems do you have?


What farts say about love


A recent post from a girl I’m friends with on Facebook reads: “My honey is afraid to fart in front of me lol.”

I thought to myself, Oh, new relationships. This particular couple has been together for less than a month now, so I thought it was just one of those new relationship nuances that she decided to not so tactfully make public. 


On the second week of their relationship they signed a lease and moved in together. So I ask this: are you ready to live with a man who doesn’t know you well enough to let out a little gas? Guys fart all the time. Just last night I met a friend-of-a-friend for the first time, and that sucker was letting ’em rip all over a pub in central London. That, however, is not exactly desirable behavior. 

But, you know, they’ll have at least one year under a lease to get to know the other’s natural bodily functions. Right? Wrong.


On the third week of their new relationship, they got engaged. I don’t believe in the bullshit of love at first sight, so perhaps I’m too cynical about this. Maybe there is a chance for our non-tooting couple. 

So my question to all of you is this: would you want to marry a guy who doesn’t know/trust you well enough to let one rip?

Personally, I’d need to experience at least two farts before signing a lease. Just kidding. What’s the rush, kids? My main point here is that I don’t have much faith in these rash decisions people make in falling hard and fast into love. It just happened to fit quite well into the farts scenario.