Un-Fortunate Fool

Were I a superstitious person, I'd stop typing right now and spend the rest of the afternoon combing the internet for directions on crafting a fail-proof noose, followed by scouting for large oak trees with sturdy branches.

You see, dear readers, I am not destiny's most favored child.

As a girl of ten I was first warned of my impending misery at an elementary school carnival. I'd like to thank the faculty and staff at Southgate elementary school for employing an "authentic" palm reader. The plump, beaded gypsy gave me the following bits of good news:

1. My life, though "intense," would be relatively short.
2. My first marriage would end, quite swiftly, in divorce.

I brushed her off, knowing that long life and happy ending were in store for me.

Fifteen years later, I tried again. A self-taught coworker peered at my palm and, with a grimace, stated:

"Well, it appears that your life line is short and your love line is broken. I'd give you another five years and six or seven more relationship failures."

Well, one always needs a third opinion, so I solicited the help of a roommate's friend--the granddaughter of a voodoo priestess. This shed a bit more light (or darkness?) on the subject of my fortune:

"Yes, your life will be very short. I see three substantial relationships for you. All are intense and strong, but end quite abruptly. The third will end in either his death or yours."

As for children?

"Four. Only three will live. I'm sorry to say you will lose your first."

Do not feel sorry for me, readers. I plan to live my last five years to the fullest. I expect to see you all at the funeral of my firstborn.

Luckily, I've been looking for more reasons to stay in bed all day.