Friday the 13th
I’m not a huge believer in luck. I’m not really much of one at all. I prefer the idea that I make my own path. Consequences come from my own decisions. I’m not going to rely on some distant unattainable magic to get results.
I’m not a huge believer in luck. I’m not really much of one at all. I prefer the idea that I make my own path. Consequences come from my own decisions. I’m not going to rely on some distant unattainable magic to get results.
Subsequently, I’m not fazed by superstitions. Bring on the
black cats, broken mirrors and ladders. I dry my umbrella open inside, what’s
it to you?
Friday the 13th has always seemed ridiculous to me.
I forget it’s even an issue until people start blaming everyday mishaps on this
black voodoo that clouds the date.
Italy isn’t lacking in this superstition. But it’s not Friday
the 13th that gets them in a tizzy — Friday the 17th. bum bum bummm.
I was in Capri Friday the 13th and heard plenty of
my fellow travel companions blaming the unfortunately crappy weather on the
date. I asked a shopkeeper her opinion. She just stared at me with a confused
look on her face until I remembered that Italy’s unlucky number is 17.
I think it’s funny that each culture has this dark date, but
the fact that they’re different numbers here and in the states makes it feel
all the more arbitrary.
Still it’s fun to
realize/find differences that are actually the same idea, just with a twist.
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