2017 began, for me, with three strikes of horrible events; my father-in-law passed, I lost my cell phone, and I was sick, not once, but two times. So, I figure my run of bad luck is done because that’s three times—right?
Now, I’m not a superstitious woman ordinarily, but the three times phenomenon is so ingrained in my neurons, I decided to research how it originated. The most common theory is as follows:
On a battlefield (and this traces as far back as the Crimean War) three soldiers each light a cigarette from one match. The enemy sights the flame when the first soldier lights his ciggy. The second soldier ignites his cigarette from the same match. The enemy takes aim at him. When the third soldier inflames his fag from the same match, the enemy, already locked onto the target, kills him. From this the three phrases, three on a match, third on a match, or unlucky third light, arise.
As of Friday, I felt pretty good that I’d be okay for the rest of the year (fingers and toes crossed—now, I have to look up that one, too *sigh*). Then on Saturday I wrenched my right shoulder. Does this mean I’m starting another round of three?
Aaargh! *burying my head in the sand* More aaargh, ’cause now I have to look that one up as well.
Do you believe in the unlucky three?
I’ve decided that the only way to combat these inherent superstitions is to everyday give thanks for three things. Therefore, today, I give thanks for my Viking, my three sons, and their wives and girlfriends.