The Sweet Kiss of Formaldehyde
Here’s the story of superstition, blame, and ducks.
How did your Friday the 13th go? Mine started off with the wonderful news that the upcoming week in the UK will see temperatures hit 25, after several months of -25. It ended with me in bed barely able to move because, yes, guess what chump ended up unwell with a fever of a billion and three days before a heat wave? Some would say it’s my own fault. Some would say that its fate’s fault for throwing a dart at the Earth and whomever it impaled is the one she would bully for all of time. Let’s face facts, readers, I lose my voice more than anyone else does, several times each year, and I hardly talk. That doesn’t make a great deal of sense to me. Others would say that shit happens and there’s no use in blaming anyone. But look, who else would fall ill on the unluckiest day of the year? And before you ask, no I’m not even a superstitious person, unlike most Cancerians…