Why am I writing about Friday the thirteenth on Friday the twenty-seventh? The answer is simple. You see in MELDALAND, Friday the thirteenth skipped a week and paid a visit on Friday the twentieth. Just wait until I reveal some of the things that happened.


I left home to pick up some printing and office supplies at Staples in Lindsay. Toodling along Kent Street, listening to CNN, I saw a red light ahead, but it was the wrong red light. Huh? I looked past the first  light and set my eye on the second red light.

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With sweaty palms and a pounding heart, I screeched to a halt in the centre of a busy intersection, waiting for someone to T-bone me. Thankfully, the other drivers were paying attention managed to stop — no airbag, no collision, no police, no ambulance and no tow truck. I breathed a giant sigh of relief.


Lunchtime had long passed and my stomach was growling. I popped into Food Basics and grabbed two clam shell containers of grape tomatoes to snack on. A sensible choice, right?  I chose not to waste 5 cents for a bag.


Just as I was about to open the car door, the lid of one container popped open and the little tomatoes scrambled in every direction. I got down on the ground and gathered up every last tomato.

Dirt doesn’t scare me.
In fact, I give it credit for my robust immune system.

Ravenously hungry, I ate the tomatoes, but on the first bite, my lips didn’t stay tightly closed and juice and seeds squirted all over my shirt, the door and the window. Why not? That must have been a sign to go home and away I sped.


Along the way, I picked up my water bottle, the lid flew off and the water soaked me. I sat in wet clothes the whole way home. Strangely, by the time pulled into the garage I realized my clothes were dry. How did that happen?


I have a theory —I was so mad my body generated excessive heat that evaporated the water.

Of course not, but it is fodder for a good story.

Now, if I see black cat or break a mirror, that is a different story!

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