I’m not fanatical about superstitions, but I do have a few. For instance, I can’t walk under a ladder. I will go around every time. Likewise, I’m extra cautious with mirrors, lest I break one. However, spilling salt doesn’t even rate a raised eyebrow, and obviously I don’t have a problem with black cats, since Midnight is, well, black.
I do have a huge problem with saying “It can’t get any worse.” I feel like you are just inviting the heavens to open and reply, “Oh no? Really? Well let me show you.” My kids know this about me, and have grown up with my mantra that you just don’t say, “It can’t possibly get any worse.” It’s forbidden, taboo, worse than any cuss word, run from the building with ears covered screaming, “LALALALALALALA!”
Not too long ago, we had one of those mornings. You know the kind I mean. Can’t find my coat, backpack, shoes, belt, don’t have time for breakfast, what about my cup of coffee type of morning. I get Roo and Buzzard in the car, and halfway to school, Roo says the unthinkable, “Well, it can’t get any worse.”
I breath in a groaning breath. “Whyyyyy did you say that!”
“Mom, it just can’t!” he says.
I make a face that clearly indicates I can see oncoming disaster. He laughs, and gets out of the car. I wave, and say, “I hope you’re right!”
Pickup time rolls around. He gets into the car and the first thing he says is, “You know how I said this day couldn’t get any worse?”
“Yes,” I reply cautiously.
“Well, it did.”
I look over at him and see that he has pulled his feet up so I can see them. I start to laugh as I realize he has two right shoes on. You see, they have PE first period, so they wear their PE clothes to school, and pack their uniforms, including black dress shoes. Buzzard was the one who couldn’t find both his shoes that morning. Mystery solved.
“Does Buzzard know?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Not yet…” He lets the sentence hang, as though he hasn’t yet quite arrived at exactly how bad it can be. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna say that again.”