I know I’ve talked about a few of my quirks, but hey, I have no shame, so here’s another one since it decided to smack into my windshield this past week. I’m superstitious, and not just kind-a-sort-of, I’m the person you see in restaurants throwing salt over their shoulder, trying to keep the bad luck at bay. I think my borderline manic thinking on this was only intensified by the many years I spent acting. Actors are a superstitious bunch. Even if you see us laughing good naturedly about you saying, “Good luck,” before a performance, in our heads we’re wishing we could stab you in the heart for cursing us before we go on.

Okay, I think before I digress too far here, let me tell you what happened this week.

My husband and I are driving home, when out of nowhere, a pigeon face-plants into our windshield. I looked at my husband wide-eyed. “Oh my word, I hope that doesn’t mean the same omen as last time.”

He looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about.

“Don’t you remember seventeen years ago? We hit a bird traveling down to see your parents for Father’s Day? Three days later, on the way back, you fell asleep at the wheel and rolled the car.” To this day, it was the worst accident I had ever experienced though we both walked away with only minor cuts.

Thrilled about the reminder, my husband said, “Gee, honey, I’m so glad you haven’t forgotten about that.”

Insert sarcasm if you haven’t already. Rude, right?

Anyway, I’m happy to report, since more than three days have passed, the bird ended up meaning nothing more than a poor suicidal creature that chose our vehicle as a means to its end. If only it could have known how freaked out its death was going to make me, then it could have done the polite thing and picked some other car to fly into. Crazy bird!