I am usually the least superstitious person on the planet.
I step on cracks with wild abandon, and my mother’s back is in better shape than mine.
I have broken mirrors several times, with no noticeable problems.
If a herd of black cats crossed my path, it would not trouble me in the least. Although, if cats formed herds, I would suspect that they are up to something.
Walking under a ladder doesn’t bother me either, as long as I don’t violate the rules of common sense. For example, if I see a ladder that looks like it’s rated for 150 pounds, and a guy who looks like he is 350 pounds is on the top step of the ladder, violating OSHA rules, with a bucket of paint, I will stay away. This is doubly true if he is chewing tobacco and spitting. Nothing good can happen there.
However, Friday the 13th does bother me a bit. This is because, nearly 20 years ago, I was laid off from my first “real” job on a Friday the 13th, along with quite a large percentage of the company I was working for at the time. Never mind that I found a better job in a few months, I still don’t like the day very much, although the feeling is fading now that about 50 Friday the 13ths have come and gone without incident.
The worst thing that has happened so far today is that I forgot to ask for vacation, so I had to work all day.
My daughter, in contrast, says, “I like Fridays, and I’m 13, so what can be bad about Friday the 13th?”
For everyone who needs to laugh at superstition, here is Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “I Feel Lucky.”