So, technically I don’t believe in luck.
But if I did, hoo-boy. I am not what you would call a lucky person.
It’s not that I’m particularly unlucky. (Although, sure, there are times when you might think that was the case.) It’s more that I’m luckless. Random, awesome things never happen to me. I don’t win contests. I don’t get my name drawn for things. I don’t happen to stroll into the coffee shop just as Ryan Gosling (who is there, drinking a mocha) tells his friend that he is tired of the dating scene and will just up and marry the next girl that walks in the door.
It just doesn’t happen to me.
So why is it that the past week or so, I’ve started to feel like somebody else? Like somebody who ducks into a store and finds out they’re the millionth customer and has won hundreds of dollars in cash and prizes?
It started small, last week. Boy intern Bobby got a free iced coffee and didn’t want it, so he gave it to me. I know what you’re thinking: “Justine, that’s not luck. It’s friendship.” Ok, well try this on for size: Last Thursday, I bought a tall iced coffee/breakfast sandwich pairing at Starbucks, and they accidentally gave me a grande.
Still unimpressed? Yesterday, I found $4 on the sidewalk. And THEN, (and this is a big one) I JUST won two FREE tickets to Shakespeare in the Park, where they are showing Twelfth Night. Not only do I love Shakespeare, I happen to love that particular play especially.
The point is, lately I’ve started to feel like Lindsey Lohan in that movie I never saw where she is really lucky, except I don’t plan on losing my luck by doing something slutty like kissing a stranger.
I could get used to this “lucky” thing I don’t really believe in.