The Right Person

Prompt: Broken

Hello Wednesday,

When I was a child of nine, I broke the big mirror on the bedroom dresser I shared with my sister– a mirror which partly covered a window– when I tried to open that sticky window. It shattered into a thousand pieces and took me and my mother a long time to clean it up.

My mother knew it was an accident and wasn’t angry, though every extra expense was problematic for my family in those days.

I wasn’t worried about the expense or my mother’s reaction. I was nine: I knew for sure that breaking a mirror meant seven years of bad luck. I did the math: my life would be a living hell until I was sixteen.

What happened was that I did think about it for seven more years. I fretted a little. I thought I recognized catastrophes related to the broken mirror. But mostly, I realized that superstitions are stupid AF.

I understand that this is not a brilliantly intelligent revelation, but it was to me as a child. I didn’t have to believe things. I could be critical. I could make up my own mind. After years of avoiding cracks on sidewalks, being repulsed by the thought of walking under a ladder, and touching wood with great solemnity, I was finally free!

Well, I throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it, don’t know which shoulder it should be but I do it anyway. And if it rains, I blame my partner for washing the car.

In the spirit of Wednesday’s prompt, broken, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, only the first of which is related to the theme?

cartoon 10 commandments

cartoon broken refrigerator

cartoon eye contact

See you tomorrow for Throwback Thursday. Have a wonderful week!




Prompt: Superstition

black cat hero

Joanne used her intuition every day, and felt she was good at her job. She wasn’t entirely sure why one person presenting their passports or visas would draw her suspicion more than another, except for the very obvious signs, like sweating and extreme nervousness. Perhaps it was just her years of experience. When she sent someone back for more questioning she was always pretty certain they had something to hide. Not from her, not always, but most times. Even if they were released to catch their flight with no further bother, Joanne just knew they had something to hide.

But when the pleasant young man helped her when her grocery bag broke on the stairs to her apartment, her intuition told her to send him away. A few minutes later, when he cheerfully insisted he bring the groceries bags directly into her apartment and her kitchen, alarm bells chimed.

But, she told herself, she didn’t want to be one of those people who suspects everyone. Surely he doesn’t mean any harm. I’m being paranoid. She didn’t listen to her intuition.

That’s why she was at the hospital now, having been sexually assaulted and almost killed, being prodded with swabs and questioned by police officers whom, she thought, could be a little more patient with her.

Intuition is not a superstition, or a super-human, rare talent, or something whose warnings should callously be discarded in favour of logic and persuasion.

Trust your intuition.