Terrible inevitabilities. My first terrible inevitability was fulfilled, and hence began a terrible legacy of terrible inevitabilities.
The first one: I had made a lame joke to a friend who had asked me to post a letter. Hilariously, I told him I'd posted it in one of those black postboxes with all the fag burns on. Ha ha! It was hilarious, and everyone was impressed with how much I won. Since then, though, I had paranoia evey time I posted a letter, worried that I might post it into a bin rather than a postbox.
Of course, this eventually happened, and I was required to root around into a stinky bin at 5pm on a packed Tottenham Court Road, like a diseased tramp.
Now I have a new terrible inevitability: that I will forget to put my shorts on when I go to the gym. I nearly did it the other day; hopefully it won't be too awful, because I have some gorgeous pants at the moment. I'll have to pull the same trick that jazz musicians do when they hit a bum note: pretend it's a particularly bold statement, and power on through. All getting on the running machine, in my pants.
What's your terrible inevitability, readers? If you don't have one, you should get one: it's terrible.