When the microwave stopped working last week, I wasn’t too alarmed. After all, these things happen. The poor old thing worked well for the better part of its 10 years and with a family of growing boys, it certainly had its work cut out for it.
It was our go-to appliance for everything from leftovers to popcorn and there were days when a line formed in front of it, just waiting to heat up an entrée. It served us well and when its hum turned into a growl, it was evident that it was time to put the old boy out to pasture. “Oh no!” my mother exclaimed when I told her of the microwave’s demise.
“What?” I asked, as I felt she was being a bit dramatic.
“Well you know bad things happen in threes,” she said matter-offactly. “You’d better get your finances in order and prepare for the onslaught.”
“That’s an old wives tale, Mom,” I replied. “Nobody believes in those kinds of things anymore.”
“That’s what you’re saying now, but you’d better mark my word.” Mom always wants us to mark her word. Although I am usually more receptive to her advice and word markings, I did not want the foreboding to be true.
Therefore, I did not mark her word, but I should have, because when the car began leaking oil all over the garage a little voice in the back of my head said, “That right there is thing No. 2.”
“Nonsense,” I exclaimed to no one in particular. It’s just a coincidence. These things happen, after all. Appliances go on the fritz, gadgets malfunction and there is always some nut that is liable to have a few screws loose now and then.
While it was certainly a good little hit to the wallet when the cap came off my tooth, I actually felt relieved. Since it was the third thing, we could reassess our assets, return back to normal family functions and put the house back into good order.
But it did not end there. While one can’t blame a dryer in a household such as ours for tiring of its tasks, drying was the only thing we asked it to do. And when it ceased doing it, I was less than amused.
“What we have here,” I said to Mother during my next phone call, “is a series of four things. So how do you explain that?” After all, inquiring minds wanted to know. Did one of the previous three not truly count, or were we starting a new round of three?
“Well,” Mom replied, “I certainly wouldn’t open an umbrella indoors or walk under any ladders if I was you.”
Although I am not superstitious and still believed the curse of three to be nothing more than a crazy old wives tale, I have to admit I was a little shaken. When the icemaker froze up, I counted that as thing No. 2 in the second series of three and then took it upon myself to count a hangnail in this next round of trios.
After all, who says there is a level of badness to attain before it counts?
Mom does, that’s who, and it wasn’t long before I was scared to turn on a light switch. I acted brave, but I must admit I threw some salt over my shoulder and every so often I took the time to knock on wood.
I refused to pump gas on pump 13, hung a horseshoe over the door and drove around the block to avoid crossing the path of a black cat.
I have been waiting for the other shoe to fall for several days now. If my hangnail did not count, then certainly breaking the hand mirror that I use to check the back of my hair did not count either.
Nor does tripping over a throw rug and bruising my shin, or the fact that our new puppy chewed up a perfectly good flip flop. I am wary of my ways and certainly walking around on thin ice.
Although I have never been a fan of marking Mom’s words before, I am certainly marking them this time and one thing is for sure — I am not going to be taking any wooden nickels anytime soon.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].