I used to be a very superstitious kid.
Maybe it was growing up Catholic–”say this many Hail Marys and Acts of Contrition in this order, and all your sins are forgiven. Also, you might see a ghost appear in the bathroom mirror.”–or maybe it was growing up in province that held on to a lot of the old Irish superstitions, but there were rituals. I still remember my great aunt telling me to take an iron nail when I went out picking blueberries; otherwise the fairies would get me.* And to this day I can’t spill salt without tossing some over my left shoulder into the eye of the devil.**
And then there were the personal superstitions. When I was ten or so, I had a ‘bus summoning’ that would make the school bus arrive faster in the winter when I had to wait outside. There was a certain number of cars of a certain colour that I had to count***, and then a little dance I had to do. I’m pretty sure that it was just a way to pass the time and keep my internal organs from icing up, but I still did it. If nothing else, it served the dual purposes of warding off hypothermia and entertaining the neighbours.
Monday Challenge: write me what happens when a silly superstition turns out to be true. Satan really does hear if you don’t knock on wood; a horseshoe really does bring good luck. Or maybe those lucky underpants you wore when you first got laid really do make you irresistible.
*No cute Tinkerbells in our mythology. These were the stealing, fighting, fucking, murdering fairies. More fun, I think. And way more dangerous.
**Suck it, Lucifer.
***The colour varied by day of the week. Obviously.