Friday the 13th, it is. I’m not superstitious, of course. I believe that rational (and therefore female) thought can explain any apparent mystery. And there’s no such thing as bad luck, not really, except as the working of chance. Like the coin my SO tosses every month (to avoid stressing me out, she tosses it in private and tells me the result): it’s got an equal chance of heads or tails so it’s perfectly understandable that it should have come up tails eleven times in a row – it’s just a one in two thousand chance, that’s all. Which is extraordinarily unlucky, true, but then, as she often points out, I’m extraordinarily lucky to be married to her, so it more than evens out.
Anyway, thought we’d go for a slightly macabre theme today, in contrast to the usual romantic fluff.
