My 12th grade English teacher was a woman with straight, grey hair who introduced me to my favorite book and a poem that was my favorite, but has since been replaced. I’ve stuffed high school memories into the deepest pits of brain for my confidence’s sake, but I’ve always remembered a moment from that class.
An ex-boyfriend told me once that I shouldn’t see psychics because they communicated with the devil. I try and go to a psychic every year.
This year, I decided there was no better place to have my palms and tarot cards read than in New Orleans. I had been having pretty terrible luck with relationships, and just needed someone to point me in the right direction when it came to many areas of my life. The woman in Jackson Square flipped over a King of Swords, raised her eyebrow, and told me that in a few days I would meet an intellectually driven man who would have a big influence on the next year of my life. She neglected to tell me that I would meet him on Tinder.
Ok, but who else can relate? I tell this story to entertain more than to rant, because no harm no foul, but come on y’all….