It’s Friday. It’s the 13th. And if you’re reading this from under your doona with a salt shaker in one hand and a rosary in the other, you’re officially a friggatriskaidekaphobe.
And yes, that’s a real word. It sounds like something you’d splutter into your Prosecco after a bottomless brunch gone wrong, but it’s basically ancient Latin-Greek-Norse for “I’m not coming in today, Mercury’s sulking, a black cat gave me side-eye, and my toast landed butter-side down.”
