Within days of a painful breakup, my ex called to say he'd turned up a pair of sneakers I thought I'd lost months ago. We agreed to meet before work in front of a Starbucks the next day to exchange goods. I came bearing a few of his things -- a bathing suit, a few books and a box of cookies I didn't much care for; he brought the long-lost shoes. Cinderella indeed.
My week begins with a drunk driver plowing into my beloved automobile on Saturday night. It continues with endless phone calls to insurers and daily duct-tape reattachment of the side-view mirror. Thursday is highlighted by another drunk driver who barrels into my car's rear end in traffic. Now the trunk doesn't lock and flaps like a broken wing. I tend bar for a living. I've spent years dispensing encouragement and free psychological advice to my customers. In my time of need, I reach out for a little reciprocation. They respond in unison, "These things come in threes, you know."
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