January 9, 2008 | Comments ()

By Dustin Rowles | Comment Diversions | January 9, 2008 |

My grandmother was infamous for her collection of folk instructions. Don’t hand people knives or scissors—it cuts friendship. Don’t make important decisions, visits or phone calls on any day but a Tuesday. Avoid dark green, an unlucky color; Nan nearly had a stroke when my mother once innocently spread a dark green tablecloth under a birthday setting.

Personally, I’m Little Ms. Flippant when it comes to these things. I open umbrellas in houses and walk beneath ladders and never worry about broken mirrors or spilled salt or even thirteen-month-old babies. I’d sleep in a graveyard if the blankets were warm enough. But there’s one thing I have never, in thirty-odd years, been able to bring myself to do: I can’t say Bloody Mary in front of a mirror, and I’m pretty sure I never will.

Maybe we all have a superstitious weak spot. No matter how rational or secular we are, or how detached from the traditions of our forebears, some things linger. What lives at the back of your brain, set apart from the rest of your personality or philosophy like a brat under a dunce cap? Or (conversely) what superstitions do you eagerly embrace and defend with enthusiasm?


Very Superstitious

An Afternoon Comment Diversion / Ranylt Richildis

Comment Diversions | January 9, 2008 | Comments ()

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