The Curse From My iPhone

girl-with-iPhone  I thought she was just making up songs and recording them on my iPhone. I did not suspect foul play. I mean, why would my adorable 8-year old granddaughter put a curse on me?

Well – she wouldn’t. So it has to be some sort of weird phenomenon between my iPhone, her voice, and possibly a full moon. She was being silly while making a (very short) video. The song lyrics consist of 2 words, one of them over and over. It was the chanting of these words that must have triggered things.

It took me a long time to figure out I was cursed. Last week, her song came into my head, just as I was experiencing my embarrassingly constant “condition”. I did the math (put one and one together), and realized I had been cursed.

How the Hell do I get rid of a curse? I don’t know any gypsy’s, or witches. I doubt that my wireless provider or Apple could help me…

I’ll see my granddaughter in a couple of days and maybe she could record a new tune to reverse or remove it. However, there is the chance of her triggering a new and worse curse. But I’ve got to do something, before I end up all by myself on this mountain.

Wish me luck…

And what exactly is this embarrassingly constant “condition”?  Watch the video and you’ll figure it out.

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photo credit: Chris JL via photopin cc

Chapter 3 (Through the Door)

We left our heroine (now named Chloë) protesting doctors orders before staying with Travis (a.k.a. “Mr. Perfect”)…  TravisRichardson-BW

Chapter Three

He actually blushed. Was he thinking about sex? She never knew what guys really thought, only that they never thought what she thought they were.

Doc cleared his throat to get their attention. “So… what’s it gonna be?”

Before he could answer, she asked Doc if he could give her a ride to town.

“I don’t think you’re up to the trip, my dear,” Doc said, “its 50 miles of mountain roads to contend with and some are pretty treacherous.”

“I’ll deal with it,” she said. Looking directly at Travis.

“I couldn’t in good conscience let you go,” he said to her. “I know your accident was my fault. And besides, my pants won’t fit you.”

The flash of his dimple was the convincer. Dammit!  She was such a sap. Continue reading “Chapter 3 (Through the Door)”