Fourteen years ago I visited a seer at a psychic fair. She predicted a few things dead on. She somehow knew I couldn't swim and told me to take lessons or I'd regret it. I did (what could it hurt, right?) and a few months later I found myself snorkelling in Jamaica, shocked at how beautiful the ocean was and delighted that I could swim to see it.
She predicted I'd meet an old friend from school. I didn't think that one was possible since I moved away from my hometown but a few weeks later a ran into an old girlfriend from college I hadn't seen in years. She and I are still friends today and even have sons the same age.
The psychic told me I was pregnant (I was only a month gone at the time so I wasn't showing). She said she saw me walking out of the hospital holding a blue blanket. She also said I'd have 4 kids: a boy, a girl, a boy and another boy with a large gap between the last 2. They all can't be winners, right?
But hold on...
I had Elliott then Audrey then Henry. After Henry, Scott got the Big V so no fourth. But now, 10 years after Henry was born, I have an 8 month old baby in the house. A baby boy. Hm.
Don't tell me that all psychics are do-rag wearing, vaguely eastern European accented thieves. There's got to be a little something to this kooky stuff, right?
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