I love my husband a lot even though sometimes we forget that we’re married and he’s basically an extremely tall five-year-old. Also, we’ve gotten to the point where occasionally it slips our minds that we’re both foreigners to each other so when something really culturally bizarre pops up, we’re doubly surprised. Here’s a quick story about one of the Russian superstitions that caught me by surprise.
This particular incident happened during our month-long stint at my parent’s house in America. We have a good-sized front and back lawn which I’m always more than happy to enjoy when I’m home from life in the big, lawn-less city of Moscow. During our America month we spent a lot of time outside when it wasn’t too unbearably hot.
One such day, we went out only to be repelled almost immediately by the classic sticky heat of a Virginia summer. We quickly decided to cancel our outdoor lounging plans and retreat back into the air conditioning. I was heading into the front door with the Russky trailing behind, eyes to the ground in search of an elusive four-leaf clover. If there is grass, you better believe that he is paying more attention to his search for a four-leaf clover than anything you might be saying.
Hand on the doorknob, a victorious cry caused me to spin around. I came face-to-face with a four leaf clover, wilted from the heat but nonetheless very much lucky. ‘I finally found one!’ he crowed proudly. I’ll admit I was a bit surprised – the sheer number of clover popping up on our sprawling lawn made the chances quite minuscule. I congratulated him and prepared to grab a large book to press and the clover into a keepsake.
However, there wasn’t even enough time for that.
Immediately after the proclamation came an event that made me 1000% sure I do not want a child any time soon. Children (those sticky, messy little creatures) are prone to danger thanks to poor motor function, undeveloped brains, and, yes, sticking any and everything in their mouths. The Russky, my very own overgrown man-child, was no exception. After a cursory glance at the verdant little miracle it went straight towards his mouth. As swiftly as any mother might, I slapped the four-leaf clover away from him in shock. ‘What the hell are you doing?!’
He looked at me, offended. ‘I have to eat it. Or I’ll lose the luck.’
Alright, share: what’s your weird superstition that would cause others to look at you like you’re a lunatic?