When I was younger November the 18th had a nickname.
The cursed day.
When I was in ninth grade, my (supposed) best girl friend started going out with the boy I was so in love with. He was my real best friend. We talked on the phone for hours every day. I was sure that I was going to marry this guy, that we were meant to be together forever, and on & on. It was devastating to the fourteen year-old me.
In tenth grade, I was dating a guy my stepdad nicknamed "The Italian Stallion." All the girls thought he was the best. My crush for him grew exponentially as I sat in the athletic trainer's office icing my knee and waiting for him to come in and get taped up for football practice. My best friend and I went trick or treating at the ripe age of fifteen just so we could go to his house. I was speechless when he answered the door with his shirt off. After that we went out a few times and, on November 18, I found out he was also dating a gal from the other high school in town.
In eleventh grade, my boyfriend broke up with me on, you guessed it, November 18. We had been dating for almost a year and he had turned my whole world upside down, probably not for the best in the short-term, but definitely for my betterment in the long-term.
As I type all these out now, they seem silly. To a teenager they were monumental. I dreaded November 18th every year. Every single year. I don't recall any other specific things happening on November 18, but I was convinced the day was unlucky for me. I'm sure that, over the years, I noticed little things occurring that I would've have paid much attention to on any other day of the year.
In 2006, the curse was finally broken. I found out I was pregnant with Beanie. I thought I was sick or had food poisoning, but, no, it was morning sickness.
I've never looked back.
Have you ever had a day you consider particularly unlucky?