12 … 14

Friday the 13th. Spooky, isn’t it. Whatever. I’m not buying it. Not even if it’s half-price and I can get an additional 15% off if I use my Bloomingdale’s charge card. (Don’t you just love women/shopping humor? I know I do.)
Some buildings refuse to acknowledge the number 13, so if you look on the panel inside the elevator door, you’ll see that 13 is missing. The floors go from 12 to 14, completely bypassing 13. Which means that 14 is really 13.
So if you’re thinking that you can avoid all the fuss and muss, hullaballo and hoohah, danger, peril, malice, and possible death by pretending that today isn’t the 13th but merely some non-numbered, free-floating day hanging willy-nilly by its fingernails onto the calendar page, well, think again. That would mean that tomorrow, the 14th, would, like the 14th floor of those zany un-13’d buildings, really be the 13th. Which would mean that your Valentine’s Day will be guaranteed to be just awful, in ways you can’t even and don’t even want to imagine.
So make sure you don’t deny today its rightful place. Embrace it. Or else you’ll have no one to embrace tomorrow. And that, of course, is very very sad.
Have a lucky weekend!