It dropped from the shelf and it cracked like a bamf. -insert unamoosed face-. SEVEN YEARS PEOPLE. SEVEN YEARS OF BAD LUCK IS WHAT I AM DESTINED FOR.
After this happened, I cut myself, got a splinter from a wall?!!? (The wall was wooden to be fair). And then I saw a man walk past that looked like death. (Julian Richings) I kid you not. He had a long black trench coat on and was carrying a bag that looked exactly like Death's bag when he returned Sam's soul.
I have a lot planned for seven years. A lot. Most of which include travelling. I cannot carry the burden of smashing a compact mirror on the floor. I can't do it. It's too much pressure. I already hate planes as it is and it is not good for someone who has anxiety. I can imagine it now, me on the plane, hands squeezing the arm rests and praying to God that the plane makes it there and I make it there in one piece, because that compact mirror will be in the back of my mind.
Wish me luck for the next seven years guys. I'm going to need it.