Guess what? Saturday afternoon, Dalan’s Jeep broke down on the highway. This was another event in our string of bad luck since his accident ten weeks ago.
I truly don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m about ready for an Exorcism or a Voodoo Priestess.
My head isn’t spinning around and I’m not spitting green pea soup, but damn, wouldn’t a Priest still be willing to sprinkle a little Holy water and wave a cross to help a gal out? And hey, I’m all for some woman dancing around my house in a long robe, with a bone through her nose, chanting in tongues, if it will remove this curse…or whatever the hell it is.
If I’m not cursed now, I will be, since a black cat ran in front of my Jeep the other day. Then a day later, a white cat ran in front it. I’m not superstitious, but I might reconsider if the white cat cancels out the black one. If not, get me the Priest AND the Voodoo Priestess!
And do it before my husband or I get Shingles. Because the other night, we were watching television and we saw a commercial for Shingles and determined, with our luck, one of us will get it.
“Oh great,” I said. “I had chicken pox as a kid. With our luck lately, I’ll probably end up with Shingles!”
“No you got it backwards,” my husband said, “I never had chicken pox. So I’ll get the Shingles.”
Both of us giggled, even though it wasn’t really funny.
“Remember?” David asked, “I used to get poison ivy and how I was allergic to it?”
I palm slapped my head and said, “Oh that’s right! Duh. Since I never had poison ivy and we’ve been SO lucky, I’ll end up dying from some poison ivy disease that doesn’t even exist.”
THAT would be our luck.
That and Berra not being just chubby…