Saint Cheese

"That was a lucky move," I thought, "and I owe it all to that fruit-stuffed Brie en Croute." In fact, if I hadn't been overpowered by my desire to have some of that cheese I wouldn't have gone out to Trader Joe’s and my car would have been parked precisely where that heavy wooden fence fell down. "Yep," I thought, "driving down to Trader Joe’s was a very lucky move indeed."

When I saw that the bread crust on the cheese had already acquired a darker shade of brown, I took it out of the toaster-oven and put it on a plate. Grabbed a knife, a fork and some paper napkins and took everything with me to the living room, where I placed it all on the center table. Sat down, sliced myself a nice portion of Brie en Croute and, looking at the cheese, I raised my glass of wine in a toasting manner and said: "Thank you Saint Cheese."

The following morning I told Cindy, the landlady, about the fallen fence and she sent someone over to fix it that afternoon.

Premonition? Coincidence? Nonsense? Go figure. But the fact is that the persistent thought of having some fruit-stuffed Brie en Croute that night spared me a few headaches.

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