I’ve never been a big believer in Murphy’s Law. That is, until my trip this week to Miami.

Murphy’s Law is a popular adage that states, “If anything can go wrong, it will.” Now I don’t know anything about this Murphy character, but I’m guessing he was a frequent flyer.

I was excited to learn the destination of the conference I was to attend: Miami, Florida! Sunny beaches, art deco architecture, sequined pastel thongs and the best plastic surgery money can buy. So excited, in fact, that I grabbed the early flight on my “travel day” so I could take in a few sights before the conference commenced the next morning.

Rising at 4:45 a.m, after dreaming all night that I missed my plane, I made it to the airport in time for a leisurely check-in. Inside the gate, I grabbed a cup of coffee and knocked out a few e-mails while waiting to board.

So far, so good.

It wasn’t long before I noticed there seemed to be a disproportionate number of babies on my flight. (Cue horror movie music.) As the ground crew called out “zone” numbers for orderly seating, all of the infants and toddlers boarded early. Relieved, I filed onto the plane and found my seat. Directly behind me sat an adorable 5-year-old girl I would come to call “Judy Jimmy Legs.”

Little Judy was apparently so excited about her upcoming vacation to Disney World she couldn’t contain her limbs for an entire hour and a half. Paralyzed and powerless in the middle seat in front of her, I could only pray that Judy’s little legs would start to cramp violently, while silently cursing her mother’s cluelessness.

Murphy was just getting warmed up.

Connecting in Atlanta – the airport proudly boasting the world’s longest distance between restrooms – the strap on my new tote bag broke, and I had to lug it like a 20-pound sack of potatoes, 15 miles down concourse A to my gate. Note to self: Start upper body strength training ASAP!

On Flight No. 2, I shared a seat with two adolescent brothers who had yet to grasp the concept of deodorant. The boys – let’s call them Pungent and Stinky – were “sharing” one portable DVD player and a pair of ear buds. Twenty minutes into the flight, they came to blows.

At baggage claim in Miami, I watched in horror as my unzipped suitcase sprayed undergarments, jewelry and shoes through the air as I yanked it off the conveyor.

Murphy’s Law strikes again!

Exhausted, I checked into my room and hit the sheets for a power nap. Two hours later, I woke, showered, changed into my white linen pants and hailed a cab for South Beach.

I nabbed a table outside the famed News Cafe on Ocean Drive and settled back for dinner and world-class people watching. I was so psyched, I hardly noticed the 25 mph winds and nimbostratus clouds moving in from the east.

The steak churrasco was delectable, and the South Beach sidewalk parade did not disappoint. Then I attempted to cut through an undercooked carrot and flipped half of my meal onto my lap. The paper napkin was no match for the chimichurri sauce so, after a dousing of club soda, I paid my tab and went for a stroll. Two minutes later, the skies opened up. Monsoonal rains ensued. So much for the Sunshine State.

Give me a break, Murphy!

Back at the hotel, I was nearly flattened by a stampede of teens in formal wear pouring out of the elevator. Prom night, I thought. (Cue horror movie theme again.) Gee, I hope they’re not on MY floor.

Typically, I don’t sleep well in hotels, and this night was no exception. I dreamt wildly and got up every half-hour to adjust the finicky thermostat. Finally, on the threshold of delicious REM sleep, I was jolted awake by the hotel fire alarm.

I panicked, knowing I had not packed the appropriate outfit for standing outside a burning building in front of TV cameras. (Don’t laugh! Miami’s a HUGE market!) My wardrobe worries were put to rest when the announcement blasted into my room: False alarm : apologize for the inconvenience :

That was 3:30 a.m. It happened again, precisely at 4.

The rest of the trip was better. In fact, it went really well. My luck had changed.

Well, it almost HAD to. Even Murphy takes a day off once in a while.