If you’re lucky enough to be Irish, then you’re lucky enough. – Irish saying.
I’ve been lucky all my life. Not that you’d be able to tell from appearances. I look ordinary enough. I’m quite short with thin hair, weak eyesight, and wobbly bits that fight doggedly against firming. I don’t have a lot of money and my most successful moments have been witnessed only by preteens who give me no publicity or recognition.
My sort of luck is the type that shows itself just when it is needed. It comes in the parking spot that shows up just as I’m about to give up and drive away. Or the clearance rack sweater in just my size. It comes in the form of a magical girl who waited years to be born to us and also in the shape of her beautiful brother who couldn’t make up his mind to join us until I was well into my middle years and wasn’t giving further children a thought at all.
My luck shows up at the strangest times, is delivered by the oddest messengers. Often, there is a hefty tab involved with luck. Sometimes doctors let me know how lucky I am, other times it is car mechanics or plumbers. I don’t always see the luck when it strikes, sometimes I resent luck until I’m several exits down the road from where it hitched a ride with me. Only then can I see how lucky I truly was.
Yep, I’m a lucky gal all right. Lucky enough.