Tomorrow is Friday. It is also the 13th. That makes it...well, you know. Now, I am not particularly superstitious, but I thought I'd better write this thing today just in case the computer is attacked by gremlins tomorrow. I don't really suffer from paraskevidekatriaphobia, although that word alone is making me a little uneasy. I think I pulled a muscle just typing it. I do, however, have a mild case of parasailvidekatriaphobia which is the fear of three para-sailers following me everywhere I go. Also, I have a little touch of paralegalvidekatriaphobia, meaning I'm afraid that three people carrying law books and steno-pads are hiding under my bed. Then there is my ongoing struggle with parapantsonfireaphobia, which I think is self-explanatory. The word is a version of triskadekaphobia which is a fear of the number 13. Not to be confused with trisketekaphobia which is a fear of snack crackers. Paraskevidekatriaphobia means a fear of Friday the 13th. According to experts, around 20 million folks are in the grip of this condition. The exact origin of this fear is a matter of dispute but all agree it goes back centuries.

As I mentioned, I'm not particularly troubled by Friday the 13th. I mean, you've seen my work. How much worse could I possibly do? As for other superstitions, I used to carry a rabbit's foot around with me but had to stop. It was still connected to the live bunny and made my pants fit funny. The bunny didn't like having keys attached to him, either. Well, hare today, gone tomorrow.

I've broken mirrors before with little effect on my overall luck. Although, once, the mirror I broke was the one all the anchors have hidden behind the big desk. They use it to make sure they look anchorish. Often, if you listen carefully, you will hear them, as they gaze into the looking glass, whispering "Mirror, Mirror in my hand, who's the most Cronkite-like in the land?" The shattering happened as I was walking off the set and accidentally stepped on the thing. Well, I was in hot water. I still remember being taken to task: "What am I supposed to do now when I have to check my eye-liner?" "How am I going to know if I've used too much rouge?" "What happens when my false eye-lashes fall off?" and those comments were just from Jim Flink and Kris Ketz.

Ladders do make me nervous but not for fear of walking under them. I've read that that particular worry goes back to the olden days when people thought ladders resembled the gallows. That's where that hang-up came from. Get it? Hang-up? I really stuck my neck out on that one. I have trouble going up them. By the second rung I'm dizzy and suffering nosebleeds. Heights are increasingly problematic for me. Let's put it this way, you know how, over the course of a lifetime, most of us get a little shorter? I'm actually looking forward to that.

Black cats are not one of my worries. Growing up, the lady next to us, Dolly Ostrander, had a black cat with no name that was always running around. He seemed indestructible. He was big and tough and ruled the backyards. We never had any mouse problems. In fact, whenever a mouse had to cross our block the rodent would usually try to disguise himself as a very short meter-reader. This cat would guard his territory against any other creature. I saw him beat three raccoons, a couple of possums and a hedgehog all at once without even messing up his whiskers. You'd think living next door to a tiny, white-haired woman with a black cat might have conjured up bad fairy-tale mojo in a little kid, but instead it made me feel rather safe. I figured that any magical, mystical powers emanating from that little cottage would be more protection from bad stuff than anything else. More Samantha than Sabrina, if you know what I mean. One day, Dolly knocked on our door and said the old, black cat was acting sick. One of my brothers put the feline in the back of his car and went to the vet. That was the last we saw of that neighborhood watch-cat. I will admit the backyards seemed kind of empty after that. So, with that black cat in mind, I couldn't possibly be melanofelinophobic.

As a TV weathernoodle, you may think I'm concerned about opening an umbrella indoors...another superstition for some. Well, yesterday on the show, I did just that. I wore one of those little umbrella hats. (I, clearly, do not suffer from makeafoolofoneselfaphobia.) Since it wasn't a full-sized bumbershoot, maybe I'm in for just a little bad luck to rain down on my noggin. Even if bad things do start to happen, it was worth it just to use the word "bumbershoot." By the way, FirstNews co-anchor Jere Gish commented that the thing didn't quite cover the gargantuan gourd that is my head. Due to that, I believe, I am developing Jeregishtaphobia.

The bottom line is that tomorrow is Friday the 13th. It is going to be a gray, chilly, rainy day that might just end with a few April snowflakes. That does sound a little unlucky. Maybe I have to go find another rabbit. Preferably, one using a bumbershoot.