The curses in my family go back generations. They say a gypsy once had a falling out with one of my great-great-great-greats oh so long ago, but it wasn’t one of those passionate, ‘I spit on your grave!’ type of falling outs. So my family isn’t covered in boils. We don’t die tragically young or have some physical deformity.

It’s said the gypsy who cursed us coveted something of my great-great-great-great’s but what it was has been lost in the telling. Could have been a couch for all I know. Whatever it was, the gypsy couldn’t buy it, steal it or trade for it and this irritated her beyond reason. And so it began.

So what devilry was visited upon my hapless family? It took some time before we could figure out what that gypsy had actually done to us. The subtlety is ingenious. My grandmother’s curse was to never be able to make a decent cup of coffee. Mom can never find a hairdresser who doesn’t butcher her hair.

And mine? I am doomed to never have a decent vacuum cleaner :(