My dad didn’t admit it to me until my 40th, but by then I’d already figured it out. I mean, come on — that kind of bad luck is no coincidence, even though I’d tried for a damn long time to write it off that way.

5th birthday. My parents got a clown for my party. He did magic — he pulled a rabbit out of his hat. It was dead. The clown started crying, and I still have nightmares.

14th birthday. My hot math teacher called me up to the blackboard to solve an equation. My nickname was Woody for the next 4 years.

21st birthday. Girlfriend dumped me right before the guys took me out to the bar. I end up in the hospital with my stomach pumped and pieces of shotglass stuck in my forehead.

26th. Condom broke. 32nd. Served with divorce papers. 37th. Totaled my brand new car.

40th birthday. Mom died. That’s when Dad told me. He’d been having an affair with an OB nurse. She didn’t know he was married until the day I was born. He didn’t believe her… curses aren’t real.

I just wish she’d put it on him instead.