I don’t think anyone would describe me as overly woo-woo or inclined to superstition. I’m also not taking any prescription drugs or ingesting any controlled substances of any kind. Finally, I don’t remember anyone ever accusing me of being batshit crazy. So you can trust me when I tell you my wife, Carolyn, is psychic.
Once as I was packing a brand new softball to take with me on a trip, Carolyn said, “I wouldn’t take that softball. I see it in water.” I packed it anyway. After all, my wife wasn’t Nostradamus. The next day when I was playing softball, I fouled off a pitch, which traveled backwards and plopped into a ditch full of water. “Uh oh,” I thought. “Whom have I married?”
Carolyn also has some ability reading people’s cards. She used to read Spirit cards (like Tarot but with a Native American basis) for the students attending our Halloween parties. One of the students, Kristi, pulled so many fertility cards that Carolyn asked, “Are you pregnant?” Kristi shouted, “Hell no. No way!” When her husband also chose fertility-intensive cards, Carolyn asked, “Kristi, are you sure you’re not pregnant?” Kristi vehemently denied it again, but only 2 weeks later she told Carolyn, “I just found out I’m pregnant. I’m never letting you read my cards again.”
Then there’s the time Carolyn channeled. I have to first explain that Carolyn can’t sing. I don’t mean this as a criticism. I’m just reporting a fact. But one time as Carolyn was driving on I-26 toward Burnsville, out of nowhere she starts belting out, “Gotta dance! Gotta dance!” in perfect, amazing Ethel Merman voice. I looked at her in both awe and alarm because it was clear Ethel Merman was at that moment in the driver’s seat. Carolyn, also, looked spooked and said, “I don’t know where that came from.” For all I know, Carolyn’s exerting tons of cosmic energy every day just to keep Ethel from coming out again.
Maybe you’re thinking there are rational explanations for what I’ve told you so far, so I’m going to skip many other examples and go right to the clincher: Carolyn can read my mind. Not always (at least as far as I know) but often enough that I’m unable to pretend anymore that my wife is a normal person.
She often finishes my sentences before I can. She probably thinks she’s just being efficient when she doesn’t let me fully articulate my words—but it’s kind of creepy.
Even more disturbingly, she sometimes answers questions I’m thinking of but have not verbalized. When I ask her, “How did you know what I was going to ask?” she claims I asked the question out loud, but I assure you, that’s a fib.
And, finally, she sometimes will say the exact words I’m saying at the exact same time—and here’s where it gets really spooky—she says them with the exact same intonations, emphases, even accents.
This isn’t nonsense; it’s 6th sense. After more than 35 years together, I’ve come to accept that my wife is not normal.
She’s better; she’s paranormal.
(My thanks to Wildacres Retreat, where this essay was written.)
My wife just called me and said she agrees with this.
Let’s all agree to agree.
There’s a million dollars waiting to be made here, Bill.
We’re talking BIG like Joey from Friend’s and his identical hand twin kind of big.
I might not have figured out exactly how you make the money yet but leaving 3 dots at the send of a sentence has served me well up to now…
Carolyn says there are riches besides money. She says we’re already rich.