When I moved last fall, I found an Easter palm underneath the boxsprings. A quick phone call revealed that, unbeknownst to me, Mom smuggles one of those frondy protective talismans into my house every year. Protects me when I lay me down to rest, apparently. That some voodoo shit, isn't it? "Didn't we put them BETWEEN the mattress and boxsprings when we were young?" I asked. "Yes," she replied, "but I knew you'd throw it away if you found it when you flip the mattress." Do you think she does burnt offerings while I'm at work when she visits? Catholics crazy.
I do remember being very excited as a kid when we'd take home that palm. Mostly because I'd get to parade around, waving it like a wand.
Right now the palm I'm most interested in is yours under my nuts. Esteban wants to feel your life line.