Just My Luck

When I opened the small packet of soy sauce that came with my bento, the soy sauce leaped out with a "Whee!" I had no room to smile at the way it popped out, reminiscent of Animal Crossing. That was because they had landed right around my side. The white shirt I was wearing that day was a special one I had just bought.
"Just my luck," I muttered, swallowing the words along with a mouthful of white rice.

These kinds of "just my luck" moments happen all too often.

There was a time I got caught in an unexpected downpour on the day I wore my new shoes. The fabric slip-ons soaked up the rainwater like freeze-dried tofu, and it felt as if I were walking through water.
"Just my luck," my sorrowful murmur was washed away by the gray rain.

On a morning when I overslept—a rare occurrence—I hit every single red light on the way to work. Every time I stopped at a light, my eyes grew red with impatience and frustration.
"Just my luck," the complaint that spilled out as I gripped the steering wheel tightly was drowned out by the sound of the engine.

Words don't always pop out like they do in Animal Crossing. Sometimes, social constraints or unavoidable coincidences steal our words away. However, I think that loss is a form of mature acceptance.
Swallowing words instead of expressing anger or lamentation might be a momentary act of self-preservation, a reflexive wisdom to maintain one's appearance as a working professional.
I feel it's not so bad to live by swallowing those small, uncontrollable misfortunes and the words that lurk everywhere in our daily lives.

The smartphone I pulled from my pocket to write a note leaped out with a "Whee!" I had no room to smile at the way it popped out, reminiscent of Animal Crossing. That was because it fell to the ground face down.
Instead of muttering "just my luck," I am typing these words on a scratched screen.