Cashmere was born on my father's birthday, which I consider auspicious. Also Margaret Thatcher's birthday, which is ominous. Marie Osmond and a litter of our puppies, which is neutral to cute.
And don't forget Chris Carter. And, of course, me and Matt the Bruins Fan.
Yeah, Friday the 13th not such a thing to be avoided as far as I'm concerned, since I get treated to dinner, pumpkin pie, and presents on some of them.
I was born on a Sunday. The same day and year Marilyn Monroe's body was found. So if she was murdered, I have a perfect alibi.
My brother was born on a Friday the 13th. On the plus side, meant I got cake occasionally (but no presents). On the minus side, I got a brother that I never got along with.
I'm sure you can blame Chris Carter.
I was born on a Monday. That actually explains A LOT.
Monday's child is fair of face. That totally works for you. I was born on a Tuesday, whose child is full of grace. Totally NOT me.
Yay for raises, sarameg!
I can't decide what to do next, run errands, finish up the washing of the couch slipcovers, or clean the toilets. Yes that's right, each task is drearier than the last.
Thursday's child has far to go. I know, dammit, but WHERE?
Thursday's child has far to go. I know, dammit, but WHERE?
You're a runner. You run. Places. And, um, other places.
What about Sunday's child? Is there a Sunday's child?
Monday's child is fair of face;
Tuesday's child is full of grace;
Wednesday's child is full of woe;
Thursday's child has far to go;
Friday's child is loving and giving;
Saturday's child works hard for a living.
But the child that is born on the Sabbath day
is fair and wise, good and gay