You werenât sure how you werenât dead yet. Alive for 27 years and getting into all sorts of dangerous predicaments, yet it seems like youâve got supernatural luck on your side.
Johnny thinks itâs a divine gift from God. You think thatâs a load of horse shit.
Youâre naturally klutzyâfull on tripping on air. Itâs gotten to the point to where youâve been nicknamed âCrashâ; you can thank Simon for that honorary callsign.
When they first had noticed it, it started off small. You bumped into desk corners, spill coffee everywhere, trip up the stairs, the works.
âWee bairn is starting to walk for the first time, how cute.â Johnny would tease.
âSurvival instincts of a foal, kid.â Simon had gruffly muttered.
You hardly noticed when Simon started to cover sharp corners with his palm when you would pass byâGod forbid you get another hip bruise.
Kyle would herd you like a cattle dog to the middle of the room; the safest place, heâd reckon. Although, heâs sure youâd still manage to get hurt.
John would place his hand on your lower back and carefully guide you when he noticed you were extra off balance that day.
And Johnny?
Johnny is trying his hardest. Itâs like giving an egg to a Great Dane to see how gentle itâd be. âCareful, hen!â Johnny would screech, yanking you from the edge of the stairs.
It took some time to get used to but they started to feel like your Guardian Angels.
