Matthew Weaver
By the time you read this, I may have already won a million dollars. Or been asked out by a Hollywood starlet. Or officially declared The Coolest Person Ever to Grace the Planet With His Presence.
Really, the sky's the limit. My fortune cookie told me so.
But this isn't just any kind of cookie fortune.
A few months ago, after dining with family at a Colfax establishment, while taking a few days off from work, I engaged in the traditional post-Chinese food breaking open of the fortune cookie.
There, amongst the crumbs, there lay this message:
"Remember three months from this date. Good things are in store for you."
Fortune cookie messages are not usually this specific. More than likely, they could apply to anybody, throwing out compliments or vague parables, as well as the occasional Chinese translation of an American noun, which are quickly forgotten and thrown out.
But this message is different. This message holds promise. "Three months from this date" and "good things are in store." There's not a lot of wiggle room there, especially after I quickly wrote the date I got the message on the back of the fortune, and stuck it in my wallet, lest I be confused later and wonder what day those good things actually were supposed to arrive, or risk being out of town and missing them altogether.
Three months from April 16 is July 16, which was Sunday. I'm writing this beforehand, lest the good things be so absolutely phenomenal I am unable to come into work the day after. (Like an invitation from the Pope to have hot cocoa with him and Steve Martin while exploring Antarctica.) I don't want to leave my colleagues scrambling to fill my My Turn space.
Good things are in store … I don't know about you, but I can read between the lines (J-E-S-S-I-C-A A-L-B-A) and I like what I'm reading.
But wait … maybe the fortune is merely informing me of the items in my refrigerator that have passed their expiration date — Lord help me, I can never quite seem to get through a whole dozen of eggs — and telling me where the good, unexpired things are.
Yeah, I'll bet that's it. In case my unwritten, unpublished screenplay doesn't get optioned for oodles and oodles of money by Martin Scorsese, that will be my fall-back explanation for why the forces of fate and fortune have elected to gyp me. I do need to go shopping …
Although, as far as good things go, I think I have it pretty good: I'm employed at a good job in a nice community, the air conditioning in my apartment is a godsend against the summer heat, I'm rarely bored and friends and family are constantly stopping by.
Put like that, there's not much more I can ask, and realistically expect to receive. Doesn't mean there's any harm in shooting for the stars, though. Every once in a while, one of them happens to fall to earth.
So I'll keep my eyes peeled. And if a certain "Sin City" and "Into the Blue" actress happens to turn up on my doorstep holding an engagement ring and a pound cake, or, better yet, an engagement ring baked into a pound cake, consider this my request to take Monday off.
Update: Matthew Weaver, Columbia Basin Herald business and agriculture reporter, regrets to report that Miss Alba did not turn up on his doorstep on Sunday. He did, however, buy eggs, and plans to use them in a pound cake.