I might be seeing someone. It's a bit too early to tell. But even if it wasn't too early to tell, I wouldn't mention it because to say so out loud--or even in writing--would undoubtedly stamp this nascent affair with a big, fat jinx. Put the kabosh on it. Nip it in the bud. Kill it, squash it, mangle it. 

I can't even believe I'm writing about this. I feel like if I go on too much longer, my intricate safety net, built carefully and deliberately over many years, will crumble and I'll be left to fend for myself in a cold, uncertain, dangerous world. But I promised my friend I would at least try to tackle the topic; he finds the whole situation hilarious.

It's too dangerous to divulge my ritual for boarding a plane. That's not only for my safety, but for that of everyone else on board, as I'm sure you understand. The preventive dash of salt over the left shoulder when some friendly klutz spills some on the table is also for the good of the group; a small price to pay to avoid table-wide misfortune. And there's no 'five-second' rule to sidestep apartment-wide disaster when someone carelessly leaves a hat on the bed.

But my most famous ritual involves the invocation of "knock on wood, kena hora, pht pht pht" whenever, well, pretty much anything is said. Whether the thought is about something actually or potentially positive, or actually or potentially harmful, this all-purpose chant will assure that good stays good, bad is avoided and never the twain shall meet.

It works like this: as everyone knows, the wily and nefarious evil eye spends all his time skulking about, waiting for you to mention anything that potentially could go wrong so he can make sure it does. But because he's easily distracted, hearing these words causes him to forget what he was just going to do.

I've already said too much. Hopefully, by this time next week, I will still be employed, healthy and with all my wits about me. And I still 'might' be seeing someone. Knock on wood, kena hora, pht pht pht.