I Believe in the Futility of Belief

“That’s funny, I seem to have stopped getting spots on my face these days” I said to Esther on Monday. “Ah, maybe I’ve finally grown up”. I have been looking for a sign of adulthood for about 15 years. Having sex and drinking booze were non starters because they just make me act more like a child.

“Don’t jinx it!” she replies with glee.

“Balderdash and piffleschwab!” I expectorate. One of the things therapy has taught me is that you shouldn’t fear words. The worst, most depraved or disturbing thought can be safely expressed and it won’t make it happen. Life just isn’t that magical.

Now that I consider myself free from superstition, I scorn the illogical faith of others.

Today I have 3 sore bumps in the worst places possible:

1. The middle of my top lip

2. The end of my nose

3. On the very peak of my cheek

I refuse to believe that I caused these! It’s impossible. I feel like a J. K. Rowling muggle, or like my grandad, who thinks that if he ignores the internet, it will go away.

It’s time to put superstition to the test. I’m going to say something now and if it happens I will believe, I promise.

“I will get some this week”

Haha, put that in your pipe and smoke Mr Fate! It’s the least likely thing possible!

"Well now Harry, I truly believe I can keep this accent up for the whole franchise"