I have a hunch.
Really — I have a hunch.
I won’t be chanting the bells, the bells! anytime soon.
The age of computers has somehow encouraged little pillows of fat to nestle between my shoulder blades. I never knew this was even remotely possible.
Now my mother has evidence that I didn’t follow her sage advice.
To date, I have mostly followed her wishes.
I won’t jump off a bridge just because my friend did — although I once watched a pal jump out of a plane and followed shortly after.
I don’t walk under ladders, open umbrellas inside the house, or put shoes on the table.
When I reach for the seen better days knickers, I sometimes wonder:
Is this the day the fabled car crash will take place?
After years of bad posture, I’m now diverting money designated for online shopping to physios, podiatrists, and chiropractors.
Thanks to me, they’ll all be able to go on an expensive holiday this year — and tile their bathrooms with Italian marble.
A painful reminder to sit up straight
and listen to your mother.