Naturally, I Googled the circumstance to see if it portended terrible things to come. All interweb forums pointed to "yes." And if the subsequent three months of my life were submitted as evidence they, too, would support this verdict.
But fear not, dear readers. I think I've found a way to reverse my ill fortune:
All I need to do is find a baby. And spit on it.
This, according to the superstitions exhibit at the Museum of Jurassic Technology, a place full of dioramas, optical illusions and broken Rube Goldberg contraptions. Where I also learned:
- Mouse pie will cure stammering.
- A baby's caul (you know, the fetal membrane covering the head at birth) will give you second sight. Especially if it's your own, and you carry it with you in a small box til the day you die.
- If one of the groom's shoes is untied at the wedding ceremony, he will have the power to loosen the "virgin zone."
Other intriguing, if unsettling exhibits include:
- Painted portraits of all of the dogs that have died in space.
- Failed dice.
- Cat's Cradle how-to holograms (Accompanied by recordings of women speaking in tongues.)
- Dioramas of history's most notable Trailer Homes (complete with the requisite car-on-blocks)
Thankfully, the staff is humane enough to offer complimentary tea and cookies on the top floor. All of that befuddlement will wreak havoc on your blood sugar.
