Triskaphobia is the fear of the number 3.
Disclaimer: I recognize that this is a real phobia and I in no way mean to make light of any Mental Health issues. I wouldn’t exactly say that I have a phobia of the number 3. It’s more like healthy respect for it and the impending doom that is about to follow! Almost like a warning system.
Okay, maybe a little dark.
I wrote a similar post about this a couple of weeks ago. About how I tend to have a sixth sense, or mother’s intuition – whatever you want to call it. I call it, My ‘Three Strike” Superstition
Basically, Triskaphobia is a belief that bad things happen in threes. And, in my opinion, if you ignore it, that becomes sixes, then nines, etc. If anyone is in any doubt about this or thinks I am over-reacting and reading into too many things, or maybe a little TOO superstitions, let me share what happened on Monday.
We planned to leave home at 06.30 am for Joburg, a 3-hour drive away. I was up from 05.00 am. We were towing a borrowed trailer loaded with a mix of new and second-hand furniture to furnish a little flat we were taking on as a base in Joburg. Somewhere that we can make our ‘home from home’ since we spent so much time up there. Hotels are not always ideal experiences when you have kids.
So the kids and my husband are in the car, the trailer is hitched. I lock the house up and leave via the garage. I use the remote to close the garage door and turn to get in the car. Something told me to look back at the house. As I did I saw the garage door start slowing down (unusually) and then it sort of stuck on the right-hand side but not the left. It started grinding down at an angle. I quickly paused it using my remote and pressed the remote again to reopen it. I told my husband and his response was “Noooo!” (I’m sure he was only really worried about his motorbike in the garage, nevermind the house etc).
Sure enough, it was stuck. Between the two of us, we managed to disconnect the arm that is linked to the motor and to slide it closed with a bit of brute force and desperation. We get back in the car and I look at my husband, raise my eyebrows and say, “One!”
He knows what I mean. I mean “One down, two to go …” the worry is what could the other two be?
It’s now 07.15 am and we’re running behind schedule. We stop at the estate office and arrange for someone to come repair the door while we’re away for the day. And then we finally leave.
We get to the last filling station on our way out of town and stop to fill up the car. My husband gets out to check the tyre pressure on the loaded trailer etc and make his usual safety checks. I think nothing of it until he opens the door to get back in and then he doesn’t actually get in. I look up from my phone and after one look at his face I say, “What?”
He explained that the wheel bearings are ‘gone’ on the trailer. He says that he’s not prepared to risk travelling three hours on the N1 highway with a loaded dodgy trailer, and the kids in the car. Understandable!
With no other choice, we go back home. We unhook the trailer and leave it on the drive outside our house (it’s a secure complex). My husband asked the maintenance supervisor to please keep an eye on it. We didn’t have time to make alternative arrangements for another trailer at this stage. We just dumped it, fully loaded and left. It’s 08.15 am.
The day progressed in a blur of activity and appointments and hanging curtains and bored grumpy kids. By 04.30 pm we still hadn’t done everything we needed to do. So we resign ourselves to waiting out the rush hour traffic and driving home in the dark – something we try to avoid when the kids are in the car with us.
In the meantime, we have managed to get hold of another trailer. We needed this in order to take back to load up and bring back next time.
05.30 pm. We go out for a bite to eat and to let the kids play and burn off some energy (it’s not about mom guilt, really!). Also, mommy had a well-deserved glass of wine … or two!
07.45 pm. We put two very tired kids in their car seats, buckle them up. Whilst I’m faffing over the kids, my husband does his safety check of the vehicle and trailer.
And guess what?!?! The trailer connection has blown the fuses for the tail lights on the car and the trailer. All that was working was the headlights and indicators/hazard lights.
So there you have it: Three! I shit you not!
Thank you universe! I should have known! *Sarcasm
After sorting it out (at 08.00 pm on a Monday night), we eventually got home around 11.30 pm. Tempers were running high and exhaustion was prevalent. We still had to sort out the broken trailer and reorganise the cars so we could store everything securely. Oh, and get to work/school the next day!
This is just another example of how ‘bad things’ happen in threes! Triskaphobia is a real thing! I am begging someone to tell me that it’s all in my head. BEGGING!!??!!
That, or can someone please tell me how to break the ‘curse’ after “one!”
If you have a healthy respect for the number of threes, or Triskaphobia, or are superstitious in anyway, let me know?