Good Luck, Bad Luck

At some point in your life a bird shit on you and someone told you it was good luck (it very well could have been me). Or maybe you broke a mirror and insisted that you must be doomed for seven years. Black cats somehow house the souls of horrible people such as serial killers and DMV or post office employees; God Bless You is a requirement for sneezing, even if you are an atheist; and a rabbit’s foot, preferably dyed some hideous color of pink or green, brings luck. Well my friends, I’m here to tell you a little something about superstitions.

My brother-in-law’s family is Portuguese and fairly traditional. His father is one of three sons and probably the most traditional one. The Portuguese are known to be a superstitious group. One day his son, the younger brother of my brother-in-law, brought home a black cat as a new pet. Not only was the kitty not welcome in the house, but his brother wasn’t either until he got rid of it. Papa Portugal avoided the thing like I continue to avoid growing up. Apparently the whole family found this hilarious, but he stood by his beliefs. Looking further into this superstition, I discovered that this hatred of black cats goes back to the Middle Ages when it was believed that black cats carried the souls of demons and would eventually turn into witches. I don’t know exactly who decided this, but I assume it was probably the same person who decided that Africans should be put on boats and sold in America as slaves. I’m willing to bet this person wasn’t a fan of dark colors and more than likely wore spring colors year-round. Personally, I don’t discriminate against cats for the color of their fur. I just hate all of them. They don’t do much except aggravate my allergies and hide. Then when they aren’t hiding, they are rubbing all their shit up all over me, which again aggravates my allergies. I especially don’t understand people who have outdoor cats. That’s like me feeding the squirrels in my yard and then naming them and claiming they love me in the same way my dog does. It’s just ludicrous.

Let’s move on to the rabbit’s foot. I had a few of these growing up and looking back I am not only disgusted with myself for liking them, but with my mom for allowing me to carry a dead rodent-like animal’s foot around on a keychain. Furthermore, as I grew up and took art history classes I found out that rabbits are a symbol for fertility. You know that saying, “They were going at it like rabbits”? Well, there you go. Do you think that Hugh Heffner just arbitrarily chose a bunny for Playboy? And yes, this is also why the Easter Bunny exists. I find it creepy that a bunny hides eggs to begin with, but now that I know what he’s really up to my disapproval reached a new high. I want to be clear, when I was about five years old my mom allowed me to have a dead animal’s foot on a keychain that represents sex. I really question her parenting skills. My kids are getting condoms and birth control, end of story.

About the whole bird shitting equals good luck thing. I think it’s a load of shit, pun intended. Birds are rodents of the sky and the only reason I even like them is because I envy that they get to fly. I also like how owls look on jewelry, but that’s all I got on the benefits of birds. I even Googled the whole urban legend and didn’t find any sort of origins to support the theory. Though I did find a ton of stories from people about how a bird shit on them and they instantly met Johnny Depp, who got down on one knee to propose, then they found Atlantis, discovered the cure for cancer, and cracked the code on how to make world peace. I guess that’s luck, or maybe its coincidence. I’m not one to judge someone’s interpretation of luck. However, last time a bird shit on me I had to throw away the shirt because I couldn’t get the stain out. I didn’t consider that to be very lucky. I may have felt different about the situation if the bird shit out a nugget of gold or maybe a new Mercedes, but it didn’t. Furthermore, if bird shit is as amazing as people seem to think it is, then why hasn’t someone started collecting and bottling it and selling it next to the rabbit feet?

Moving on to God Bless You. I am an atheist and I say it too after people sneeze. Not because I think there is actually a God to bless people when they spit their nasty phlegm (I know how to spell phlegm without spell check. Thanks GWU!) all over me, but it’s along the same lines as all my other WASPy ideals like Thank You letters, not arguing in front of children or guests, and knowing the appropriate use of each utensil in formal place settings. It’s my way of saying, “Bummer that something up your nose is making you gross. I’ll acknowledge this so that you remember to wash your hands before you touch me, which I hope you don’t intend to do either way. I also hope I don’t catch whatever you have that made you sneeze.” God Bless You is shorter than what I want to say and it is considered polite. This saying actually comes from a lot of places. During the Black Plague people were sneezing left and right because they were sick. They usually died shortly after obvious sneezing fits because they had the plague and that’s how it worked. Everyone asked God to bless that person since they knew the sneezer was shit out of luck anyway. It was a nice thing to do and since everyone was getting the plague maybe God would spare them if they told him to bless the sneezers. Before the plague, people thought you sneezed out evil spirits. In saying God Bless You, they were just following up and telling you they had your back, since you got rid of the spirits. Eventually, people thought you sneezed out your soul and a simple God Bless You put that sucker right back in where it belonged. When people question why I am an atheist, I can’t help but wonder what logical human thinks asking God to bless you will just put your soul back inside you when all it took was a little dust to prompt it to fly out of your mouth and nose. I’m not trying to preach my beliefs; that’s just some food for thought.

Here’s a good one: breaking mirrors brings seven years of bad luck. First of all, how did we choose seven? Thirteen was chosen as a day associated with bad luck because Judas was the 13th guest at Christ’s last supper and he’s also Christ’s betrayer. Since Christ died on a Friday, Friday the 13th is still considered a bad day. So I get that 13 can be connected to bad luck, but what about seven? Then on the opposite end of the spectrum, seven is a lucky number. I happen to know for a fact seven is a lucky number because I was born on the seventh so it only makes sense that it’s a lucky number. The deal is that a mirror reflects you and your soul, so breaking it hurts your soul somehow. I wouldn’t call breaking anything lucky, so saying that breaking a mirror is unlucky is stating the obvious. There are a lot of other things on the list of stuff I don’t want to break that I put above mirrors. Examples include condoms, full bottle of wine, and any of my bones. I don’t see how mirrors and luck are related, but I didn’t make these up either. If I made up superstitions they would be a lot better than the ones that exist.

I’m not a superstitious person and never have been. I used to tell my carpenter ex-boyfriend to knock on wood and he told me if he did he would probably end up getting hurt. Plus, he knocked on wood all day long in some form and he didn’t seem to be super lucky. Unless you count him landing me, a fine gem of a lady. I essentially only believe superstitions when they work in my favor. Even then I don’t actually believe them; I just claim to in order to start conversation. You will never see me run from a black cat, avoid walking under a ladder, or carrying around dead animal feet. I respect people who do all of these things though, because they give me something to talk about.