Monday morning we left at exactly 7:13 a.m. by the digital car clock. You all know how superstitious I am. One person already asked why we didn’t sit in the driveway for an extra minute. That would’ve been quixotic. It was 13, no matter how you camouflage it.
We dropped Jonah off at his country estate then got Starbucks. So the actual trek to Las Vegas began at--- yep, 9:13. We got gas in Barstow: 13 gallons. Now I’m starting to get a little weirded. We checked into the hotel, they gave us a suite on the 13th floor. We left the room for the casino and synchronized watches at exactly 5:13.
Ok, to those of you on Twitter, that’s all old news. But wait! There’s more.
On the last night I was winning. And I mean winning big, really big, to the point where I was taking tickets out of the machines so I wouldn’t lose the money again. I cashed the tickets out and shoved all the money in my pocket, to count later in private. Turned out there were exactly 13 $100s.
If I was going to sell my superstitious neurosis, $1,300 is a good price. But pish tosh! I’m no ideological whore. Still, it sure didn’t hurt.
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