threes

I knew I was off to a rough Tuesday when a bird crapped on my face. I assumed it was an oversized drip from an air conditioning unit, but the wipe of a hand revealed the tell-tale oily white. No mistaking that one. Not to be discouraged, I continued my walk to work and stopped at my habitual bench to change from flip flops to heels. Strike two, as another bad-dream scenario came true in the form of mis-matched shoes. Granted, they were both black and round-toed. Also granted, one was a good inch and a half higher than the other. Once at work, I (stood with weight on one foot as I) reported my morning's events to two coworkers. "Watch out- bad things come in threes," warned one. Thanks, Alejandro. I don't consider myself at all superstitious, but I do have to admit I smiled to myself as the day came toward a close with nothing worse to report than an itchy shirt tag. I was so pleased with my having conquered the day, in fact, that I put an extra umph on the the big bowl of hummus I slid across- and off- our kitchen counter. Face down. Three.