How foolish is it that I'm still afraid to wear a shirt I'd intuitively thought was cursed last year? Just the slightest apprehending of that shirt is enough to clutter my head with bad forthcomings. After one car accident, my boyfriend leaving to walk down the highway to get to his car after our biggest argument of the summer, going through a detour and looking like an ass after a cop gives me the "WTF?" sign, that one time at walmart that I won't talk about, and probably many other small occurrences, I would rather burn that red shirt in the firepit out back. Or maybe I will just wear it tomorrow and see what happens?