jeanine fritz

P araphrasing a horribly-written entry from Wikipedia: superstition is a belief in supernatural causality, that one event causes another, and that the connection between the two contradicts natural science.

Yes, yes. Superstitions are dangerous and dumb.

Except for the ones that are hilarious:

* An acorn at the window will keep lightning out.

* A loaf of bread should never be turned upside down after a slice has been cut from it.

* Dropping an umbrella on the floor means there will be a murder in the house.

* Never take a broom along when you move. Throw it out and buy a new one.

* To dream of a lizard is a sign that you have a secret enemy.

Unfortunately, I've suddenly become superstitious. For two straight weeks, I've been wearing a black baseball hat that's too big for my head. I know it looks stupid, all puffy and wide in the front, slumped pathetically over my ears, blocking my vision. (This is where my superstition became dangerous.) I look like a vole being swallowed headfirst by a huge black rat snake. (Annnd that's where my superstition became dumb.)

The sad(der) thing: I paid good money for that damn hat. In fact, I went out of my way to give someone $40 for it.


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Apparently I needed to know -- in fractions of inches -- how large my head was before buying said hat, an experience utterly unlike when you buy hats at the truck stop or the airport. Those hats are adjustable and will fit any asshole. (Save my buddy, Matt. "I'm not kidding, that boy's head is like Sputnik...he'll be crying himself to sleep tonight, on his huge pillah." )

As it turns out, buying a nice, fitted baseball cap requires a little forethought. (A little more forehead might help too.)

It fit great when I first popped it on, but the dude at the hat shop explained that bending the brim, old-school style, would create more headroom. But he explained this AFTER I'd paid for it, ripped off all the stickers and had crushed the brim in my hands.

Despite the fact that I now feel almost as stupid as I look, I can't take the hat off.

Look here: As I write this, the San Francisco Giants have just won their fifth playoff game in a row and I'm suddenly, inexplicably convinced wearing it has everything to do with the Giants winning.

Fine, okay, maybe not everything; the Giants are contributing to their wins in some small way, and the other teams have contributed too, by sucking.

But last Wednesday, I worked late and forgot the game was on. As I rushed out of the office, cursing and fishing the giant Giants hat out of my purse, I discovered the game was in its seventh scoreless inning. Then I put the hat on. Ten minutes later, when I arrived home, the Giants were up, 2-0. This hat is freakin' magic.

By the time this article prints, it's possible the Giants could have lost a game or two. But that'll only happen if that secret enemy of mine, the dream lizard, runs off with my magical hat. Of course, if he does, I'll be sure to drop an umbrella on the floor in front of him so he's knows a 187 is coming his way.