So I'm pretty sure I was cursed by a gypsy. Sunday, to be precise. I'll tell you the story.
On Sunday, I decided to do laundry, as I had precious few clean clothes to wear. However, as you may or may not be aware, the weather was fantastic. I didn't really feel like being locked in the dark, scary laundry room for the entire amount of time the process would take. I figured I should take a walk and get some food, you know, enjoy the outside.
What a naive fool I was.
So there I was, whistling and trucking down a street on Staten Island, about to walk under a bridge that supports the SIR. I see an old woman walking towards me. Oh, that's nice, other people like walking in the outside like I do. What a colorful head scarf she has. I wonder if she's fantasizing about Tina Fey, too?
Anyway, our paths crossed directly under the railroad tracks, and just as I was about to pass her, she mutters something in a language I did not recognize.
Now there are a lot of languages I have never heard and I would not recognize. But I think it's safe to assume that this woman was indeed an old crone of a gypsy woman and that she levelled some sort of curse upon me.
I will take this time to add that this sorceress was wearing a hands-free device for some sort of cell phone. Many of you might suggest that this woman was carrying on a conversation with someone else, and that my presence was merely a coincidence. You will be the first I come after when I transform into a werewolf.
Clearly the hands-free device was a ruse. First of all, she hadn't said anything up to this point, and my ungodly powerful eyesight was watching her for a good 40 seconds or so. Secondly, if I'm a gypsy woman who goes around cursing people, of course I'm going to wear a cell phone accessory to throw them off the path. I wouldn't want a long line of whiny, encursed individuals cluttering up my wagon, messing up my tarot cards, crystal balls and various sundry potion ingredients. Vampire wings are ridiculously hard to come by, and must be preserved carefully.
I've accepted the inevitable, and come to terms with the fact that my sunshiny walk turned into a sadistic waltz with Lucifer himself.
The trick is, since I don't speak the language, I'm not exactly sure what sort of curse was levelled. It could be something minor, like for the rest of my life, blue pens will leak when put in my pockets. Or it could be lycanthropy.
The next full moon is June 1st, so we'll know then whether or not I am subject to metamorphosis. If I am, I really hope it's more like Underworld, and less like An American Werewolf in London. Either way, I'll be sure to blog about it if possible.
Also I bring up the werewolf aspect as it's one of the easiest to disprove. Full moon, no transformation, I guess that's not it. But the list of curses is endless. She may have cursed me with impotence, and God knows when I'd be able to test that one.
Also, I don't want this post to reflect in any way a prejudice against the Romani people. They have a long and proud history, and have been the targets of far too much discrimination and oppression over the years.
Besides, I don't need any more of them cursing me.