Forget leprechauns and shamrocks and The Blarney Stone. If you want to be lucky, just be a Levine.
My mother-in-law has had 42 car accidents (3 of which she totaled the car parked behind her in her very own driveway). And she’s never walked away with so much as a bruise. In fact, she typically walks away laughing so hard that she can barely tell us what happened. Lucky.
Jason is the kind of guy who can be eating dinner at a casino, get up to use the bathroom and return 3 minutes later with $800 he won on a nickel machine outside the men’s room. Lucky.
My sister-in-law walks into the nicest stores and bingo, everything’s on sale. And they only have her size.
My in-laws live in St. Maarten. When Hurricane Irma barreled across the island, guess whose shutters didn’t fly away? Guess whose newly-imported Italian chandelier was still sparkle-n-shining over the dining room table? Guess who had the only windows in town fully intact looking out over the ocean at sunset the very next day? Lucky? That’s an understatement.
So Happy St. Patrick’s Day, to my 1/2 Irish children. Raise a pint, kids. Because you’ve been blessed with the Luck of the Jewish.