A fresh start?

"Your luck is going to change."

So said the petite, curly haired, gypsyesque middle-aged woman who manned one of the booths at the annual Abbott Kinney Street Festival. I had just bought a gorgeous knitted coat from her. It was a sumptuous plummy brown, floor length, with a scalloped collar and a velvet tie at the bust. It was only $60! The festival always hosts dozens of vendors with some amazing bargains; earlier that afternoon, I had purchased a beautiful 1950s style feather barrette for a mere $20.

"Are you single?" she asked with a smile while ringing up my purchase.

"It's that obvious, huh?" I laughed. "Have you got some Love Potion No. 9 for me?"

She pulled a small vial of oil out of her jacket pocket and motioned for me to hold out my hands, palms up.

Amused, I did so. She dabbed a drop of oil on each palm and rubbed them in with her index and middle fingers. "Now, you rub your hands together."

I did. "Now, do like me." She cupped her hands together and smoothed them over her head, starting at her chin and ending at the nape of her neck. I copied the motion with my oily palms.

"Should I feel different now?" I joked. "I need all the help I can get."

"Now," she said, nodding serenely, "your luck will change. You will see." An interesting choice of words. I hadn't mentioned my inexplicable freak pull; I guess it's true that it works its magic through my pores or something. My friend Belinda is convinced that I give off a pheromone. Maybe the gypsy magic oil can do something about that.

I have to say, all's been quiet on the freak front lately, but I've been working a lot. Last Friday night, I was walking home from the drugstore laden with bags when I heard a voice behind me. "Your man should be carrying those."

I stopped and turned around. "I'm sorry?"

Standing there was a smiling, very nice looking guy, maybe 29 years old. "Your man," he repeated, "should be carrying those for you."

"Well, he isn't here," I smiled good naturedly and turned to walk away.

"So, there is one?" he asked. "A man, I mean?" I have to say, it was one of the nicer come-ons I've gotten in the past few years.

I'm not sure why I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't a gut reaction, indicating danger; it was a mental thing. I thought about all the times I'd accepted dates from guys who were practically strangers, guys who weren't vetted by friends or family. All I could think was, What are you hiding, nice seeming boy? Who will you become if I actually go out with you?

I just couldn't go there. "Yes, there is," I lied with a smile.

"That's too bad for me," he answered, pleasantly enough.

"Have a good night," I said as I walked away. Is my guard up so high now that the right guy can't come over it?

Maybe my luck is changing, but I'll need a little time to get used to the idea.