Saturday 1st June (Day 92)
Talk to the hand
Living in a
house occupied by backpackers and travellers means that a person moves out and
a new person moves in pretty much every 2 weeks. Today a new girl called Charleigh moved into
Amy’s old room. One of the first things
I learnt about her through word of mouth was that she could read palms.
Earlier this
evening I was in the kitchen socialising when Charleigh’s palm reading
abilities came up in conversation. I was
interested and asked her if she could read my palm.
She asked me
to hold out my hand and then she started to look very keenly at it. She flattened down the edges of my palm with
her hands and ran her fingers gently along the lines of my palm. She then started telling me the names of
everyone in my family including my sister’s husband. She even moved onto the family cats. “I see cats in your family...2 of them...no,
maybe 3. All black and white...” she
said whist fiddling around with my right palm.
I was
astonished. How the hell did she get
this information from looking at my palm?
She said
quite modestly “I can only do names” whereas her aunty who taught her could
predict future events.
It was a fascinating
experience having my palm read. I had
butterflies in my stomach the whole time. I spoke to other people in the house and they
all said the same thing, that she got everything right and it was kind of
freaky, but in a good way.
The inner sceptic
Naturally you
could argue that she just facebook stalked me when she first moved in and got
her information that way. So I decided
to make another facebook account and facebook stalk myself to see what
information she could have got. She
could have got the names of most of my family but not the name of my sister’s
husband, nor could she have got any information about my cats as they don’t
have their own facebook accounts.
Really I don’t
know how she does it and her ability fascinates me, I spent about 10 minutes
staring at my palm to see if I could see anything but I just couldn’t, I just
saw my palm. But apparently you can’t
read your own palm.
 |
| There is a story in there, somewhere. |
