Threes

by Doug Love

“That’s two,” I thought, and I was reminded of my Grandma, who liked to say, “Things come in threes.” My left foot had just sunk into an over-watered landscaped strip, and minutes later, my right foot dropped into an unfilled posthole. Both accidents had occurred in the yard of a house I was showing to my buyer and her two kids. Unfortunately, I cursed loudly both times, which apparently did not endear me to them.

The first time I heard my Grandma say “things come in threes” was when I was in my grandparents’ basement with my Grand-dad. He was bent over, straining over a bench he was building. Grand-dad dropped his hammer on his toe, instantly straightened up, and hit his head on the bottom edge of the cabinet door he had left open. He yowled and hopped, rubbing his head with one hand and grabbing his foot with the other. Grand-dad never cursed. Instead he yelled “Curses! Yeow! Curses!”

Grandma leaned through the door at the top of the basement stairs and said, “What’s the racket?”

“I smashed my toe and banged my head!” yelled Grand-dad.

“That’s two,” said Grandma, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, “and things come in threes, you know.“

“Threes! Threes!” said Grand-dad. “Dang it all, woman, must you always say that?”

“The Lord works in strange ways, dear,” she said and shut the door.

“She’s jinxed me for sure,” Grand-dad grumbled. He went back to work on the bench, but in his haste and frustration he again dropped his hammer and it clattered on the concrete floor.

“Dang it!” he said.

I was about to ask him if that was number three. On the next swing of the hammer (harder than necessary), the head glanced off the nail and landed squarely on Grand-dad’s thumb.

“Yeow!” he screamed.

“There’s your number three!” he yelled toward the empty staircase.

My client and her two kids abruptly left the property I was showing, after my two accidents and language indiscretions.

I limped out the back gate alone. In my haste and frustration I didn’t account for the tight fit between the gate-edge and the gate-post, and when I pulled the gate shut (harder than necessary), my thumb got smashed between the two.

“Yeow!” I screamed.

I didn’t curse, but I did say out loud to an empty yard, “There’s your number three!”