What are you superstitious about? Do you have any idea why you are that way?
I have a confession. I’m the one with the black cat; his name is Sabbath. He’s a good little guy. He isn’t one of those house cats, but a full-fledged working barn cat. He’s our mouser and he takes his job seriously. He also lives in one of the nicest bachelor pads a cat could dream of: our heated tack room. He circles and rubs against my legs vying for a pet, rub or scratch. A black cat crossing my path is not one of my superstitions – he crosses my path every day. He might have crossed yours.
That’s not to say I don’t ever have my own superstitions. I find myself occasionally knocking on wood to avoid messing up my fate after saying something. (If no wood is nearby, we strangely knock on our own foreheads and say “knock on wood.”) I don’t worry about hair loss, because I believe if I worry about it, it will come true.
