As you ought to see tomorrow if you visit the blog "Fellowship of the Traveling Pants", I take the occult rather seriously. Very seriously. I run like H-E-double hockey stick from it. Still, I can't resist a good psychic joke. Ladies, learn this joke and tell it to your man February 15 if he forgets about the happy day (or before hand, if he tries to convince you he won't partake because it is a "greeting card holiday")
Jennifer visited a psychic of some local repute. In a dark and hazy room, peering into a crystal ball, the mystic delivered grave news: "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just be blunt - prepare yourself to be a widow. Your husband will die a violent and horrible death this year." Visibly shaken, Jennifer stared at the woman's lined face, then at the single flickering candle, then down at her hands. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She simply had to know. She met the fortune teller's gaze, steadied her voice, and asked: "Will I be acquitted?"