Who ever said 13 was unlucky?
I seem to have promised to post about my Friday the 13th.
I can’t break a promise, can I?
Things turned out differently than I had planned. My movie marathon and creepy confections had been postponed to the 14th because I was invited to a poker game. It had been a while since my last game, and I figured I could watch movies any time.
The first surprise of the night came when I arrived at the game. My friend’s parents questioned me about my job search. I told them I had interviewed at a local school, but hadn’t heard back yet.
They responded by mentioning that the principal of that school, the one I had interviewed with, was at their house for dinner not two nights before. I found out later that he had called the principal to put in a good word for me.
Remember now. This is Friday the 13th.
So, the game proceeds, and the drinking commences. Both thunder forward through the night like a pack of wolves, and both, the game and the drinking, end at 4 a.m.
We played until the last man was standing. That last man?
I told them, “What kind of horror writer would I be if I couldn’t win a poker game on Friday the 13th.”
My friend, who I had knocked out with an “all in” hand, he responded, “It’s Saturday the 14th.”