I'm educated, I'm intelligent, I'm liberal, I'm a scientist, I'm trained to question anything I haven't seen supporting data for. But I'm superstitious.
Not COMPLETELY superstitious; it's not like I think I need to throw salt over my shoulder to avoid bad luck or that saying "Bloody Mary" three times fast at midnight will cause Bloody Mary herself to pop out of the mirror and come get me (...not that I would try it...) I'm ridiculously superstitious on just one point. It's not one that you've ever heard of, I promise. But I'm sure this one is true.
I'm pretty damned sure that if there is an invasion of ants in my kitchen on the morning of July 16 (yup, tomorrow) I am going to die. I know, you're a little shocked. You thought it was going to be something little and amusing. Well, it is amusing really, but the whole death thing is a little over the top, don't you agree?
Here's the deal. 28 years ago, on July 16 1981, after my mother discovered a massive ant infiltration in the kitchen, my father left the house to ride his bike to work. He'd had a meeting scheduled that morning, so despite my mother's pleas for him to stay and help clean up the nasty little buggers, he left. And never made it to that damn meeting.
Now you agree I've got a pretty good reason for this stupid, overly dramatic superstition, huh?
Want to know why it's even worse? Every year, every single freaking year after that, there were ants in our kitchen on July 16. Like a little reminder. Like some cruel supernatural being was having a little laugh somewhere.
There were three little scavenger ants in my kitchen today. If they find anything, a single damn crumb (and I'd like to point out that I'm sitting here writing my mandatory blog and therefore NOT cleaning...rather leaving the scrubbing to the Unsupportive Louse who, true to his name, does not understand my ridiculous superstition), there's sure to be a mass attack tomorrow. And then I'm going to die. Possibly on my bike on my way to work. Or perhaps that vindictive little god will laugh in my face and crash my bus when I try to avoid destiny by not riding my bike.
But here's the thing, if I were a malicious celestial being, I'd wait until it was really appropriate. And when my dad died, he had TWO kids, my older brother and I. I've still only got the one. So perhaps my three little scavenger ants are just a friendly warning to enjoy life while I'm here and I won't in fact die this year, but possibly next year, or maybe two years from now...
But if there are no future blogs, you'll know why.