At first I thought it was a fluke. I mean, who believes in magic? Nobody sane, right?
Well, today I’m going to make you a believer the same way my own powers made a believer out of me.
And please, take me seriously. This isn’t voodoo, or fortune telling, or self-proclaimed intuitivity. These are all real stories that really, really happened.
The most recent event took place this morning. I decided to install a new engine guard and foot pegs onto Delilah (my Harley). This should be a fairly simple process for even the least mechanically inclined guys. The only real hard part, getting the top bolt on. At least it is if you have huge hands like me.
In my attempts, and between my cursing, I kept dropping the nut before I could get it going. Noah was there helping his old man out, and was happy to grab it every time I did (which was often because of the weird spacing and angle of it). But then I dropped it one last time, and he couldn’t find it anywhere. I told him to look again. He still couldn’t find it. I grunted and took the whole thing down to help him look.
It was nowhere, and I mean nowhere. We probably scoured the place for an hour. We went as far as to pick up all the tools and move the bike. It was gone. Finally, we gave up and took a trip to the hardware store to get a replacement. This was something I didn’t want to do at any cost. Not for a stupid nut.
And this is where my magic came in.
Now, I don’t know how my magic works. I don’t know why it works. I don’t even know how to trigger it to work. I just know that it does work and it works without any effort from me and when I’m not looking.
45 minutes after we left to get the replacement nut, we pulled back into the garage. There on the floor, not 14 inches away from the front tire of the bike, was the missing nut. Out in the open, in plain, easy sight.
Just a fluke, right? I mean, yeah, I might have somehow just missed it. Maybe it had rolled under the car tire and popped out when we pulled out. Who knows. But listen to these other stories and I dare you to tell me it was a fluke.
I meticulously keep all my socks mated together, washed together, etc. I never have missing socks because I make sure they’re both there when I put them in the hamper, and I make sure they’re both there when I’m sorting and folding laundry.
But two weeks ago, I went to fold my laundry and one was missing. Like, missing missing. Like, my house is pretty dang spotless, and it wasn’t anywhere. I don’t like missing socks, so I checked the other laundry piles. I shook it all out, reached inside loose pant legs, you name it. No sock. I looked in the dryer. I looked in the washer. No sock. It was gone.
The missing sock wasn’t going to beat me. I folded it neatly and left it on top of the dresser, knowing that I’d find the other sock eventually. And, nothing. Days went by. Nothing. After about ten days, two house cleanings, and another round of laundry later, I finally gave up and threw the sock away. My OCD tendencies would not let me put it in my sock drawer without a mate, I assure you.
And that was when the magic came in.
Literally no sooner did I hear the garbage truck pull away than I felt something foreign on the back of my pant leg. I was in exercise pants, and they get staticky sometimes. I reached down to feel what it was, and peeled off… the missing sock. Clean. Black. Laughing at me, if it could laugh.
Are you a believer yet?
Okay, here are a few shorties that you won’t be able to argue with.
CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE