Even Dionne Would Have Known

I’m really bad at predicting things. I try to test my psychic ability in everyday activities, but it is pretty useless. Here are some examples:

- Getting the shaft: In the case of multiple elevators, I often stand confidently in front of one to demonstrate just how capable I am at predicting which elevator will come first. I’m never right. But I keep trying.

- Shirley Jackson: Choosing lottery numbers is an absolute disaster. And I don’t mean that I don’t win – I mean that I am lucky if I choose 1 correct number per calendar year. And with the daily drawing on tv, I like to assertively state my predictions as the numbers are drawn. Totally off. So I’m keeping my day job.

- Driven: I don’t care what day it is or how the forces of the universe align, the lane I pick will always become the slowest.

- Who’s Your Daddy?: Ok, I admit I got caught up in the mid-90s talk show craze. And there’s always an episode of some white trash couples debating who the “baby daddy” really is. This inevitably involves a paternity test. And you guessed it, I’m always wrong.

- 8 is Enough: Even if I don’t have a question to ask, I like to compare my predictions to the Magic 8 Ball. We all know the 8 Ball is always right. So I figure if I am consistent with the Magic 8 Ball then my psychic ability is very sharp. But alas, always wrong. Really. Stupid 8 Ball.