Luck Be a Lady Tonight & Make Sure She's Magically Delicious

I’m not naturally (or supernaturally) a superstitious cannibal, when presented with someone saying “knock on wood” I will proceed to either rap my knuckles on my skull or on my crotch cannon (“got wood?” hilarity ensues). No matter what Mr. Stevie Wonder might tell you, the only thing you get from a broken mirror is more than one reflective surface confirming how unattractive you are and the worst thing about having a black cat cross your path is that your dog might dislocate your shoulder if she decides to give chase (note my sincere effort to avoid a black pussy joke). As a horror fiction fan, I subscribe to the theory of superstition as a plot device but I’ve never let it roost in my real life until recently, which in itself is a mass of misfortune, all things considered.

Two months back my favorite sweater – a luxurious, black, zip up "Planet Smashers" hooded sweatshirt with a robust weight lifting Tiki emblazoned on the left sleeve – was disastrously misplaced and subsequently sucked into the Void of Vanished Garments (I assume it’s the first left turn after The Island of Misfit Toys, but that’s just an assumption). I felt violated, somehow my sweater had escaped and at less than one year old, it didn’t stand a chance out there in the real world. Milk cartons and “missing” posters would need to be in place, an exhaustive campaign mounted to recover my beloved hoody, who would keep my sweet, sweet sweater warm on those chill evenings of absolute autumn? It was my ultimate casual fashion accessory and I believe that its disappearance made my lucky life take a strange turn for the worse. I felt ultimately unlucky without it; its spell had been broken by this cannibals' carelessness. Maybe there was something to all of this horseshoe hokum?

Just last week another “lucky” item of clothing met with an equally distressing end. A T-shirt that I wore sparingly to avoid buffing its mojo, got a great blast of bleach on it or something equally exasperating. Unwearable, except as a nightshirt, the understated comfort of the garment and its charming crest would nevermore gather compliments from strangers and friends alike. On the front of the shirt was a little yellow dog with a fish in its mouth proclaiming how I felt when wearing it – “Lucky Dog”. It was an endearing image that any puppy lover would embrace (unless you’re a fish of course). I wore it infrequently throughout the summer and the term inadvertently became a mild nickname for me amongst casual acquaintances and die hard disciples, the little yellow pooch had made an impact. Now, the dog ain’t so lucky.

Cultures around the world place infinite faith in inanimate objects and trinkets to contribute chance to their daily lives and I don’t count myself as one of those folks. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for why these garments appeared to bring fortune, it’s because I felt good wearing them. If you feel empowered by compliments or what not, it emulates through your presence and makes people react differently to you as a result, which in effect turns the tide of perceived providence in your direction. I searched high and low for another Lucky Dog shirt (that was the same color) but found that all the summer stock had already been redeployed elsewhere (read: Void of Vanished Garments, will they never rest?!), my chances of replacement were now bleached beyond the original and I had just as much luck with the Planet Smashers zippy. Defeated and trying to defer destiny back to my derrière, I bought another shirt that had a solid vibe about it (which I currently wear) and states that I am “Almost Handsome” in light blue. It’s getting a laugh and that’s good, but maybe I’m just asking for trouble again, latching on to yet another shirt, awaiting yet another cotton curse.

UPDATE:
Skaank, who's been most privy to my bemoaning about Lucky Dog, has essentially spent at least 2.5 hours calling, e-mailing and generally harassing retailers trying to locate another shirt. It turns out that there’s only one left in North America and she somehow managed to secure it for me. I guess this “Almost Handsome” shirt is doing the trick after all or maybe it's just her?

The new shirt, same as the old shirt, will arrive next Monday, no word yet on its luck provisioning prowess.

iPod played "Frank Sinatra - Luck be a Lady" while posting