The Psychic From Las Vegas

I've been having a some pain in my right hand. It's not a debilitating kind of pain, its just some pain. I first noticed it in my wrist when I was doing push-ups, and now notice it mostly in my hand when I'm trying to cut through something tough, like a block of cheese. I bought a big block of cheese a few weeks ago. Colby Jack, as a matter of fact, along with some Fire-Roasted Tomato & Olive Oil Triscuits and pepperoni. I'm all for eating healthy, but you know what? Sometimes you just want some cheese, crackers, and pepperoni. Or some chocolate. And cookies. And ice cream. And it really hits the spot, often times as an appetizer while I'm cooking dinner, or a snack in the afternoon. But I digress.

I really want to talk about my parents. And Las Vegas. You see, my parents love Las Vegas. It's their favorite place to be, and when they're there they're always out on the town, seeing shows, and hanging out with friends from all walks of life that you might never think my parents would walk in. They were just there recently, and my dad called me. It was before noon in Vegas, but like all good people there they were at the bar. And then he proceeded to tell me a story. He explained that the night before, my mom had gone to a party at a friend of a friend's house, and the party featured a psychic who was the host's daughter. Apparently, each guest got a chance to sit with the psychic for a number of minutes and get all psychic with her.

He then said, "She says you should put your right hand in ice water."

"Who said that?" I asked.

"The psychic said that you should put your right hand in ice water."

True story.

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    © STEVE SCHULTZ