QOD: Why is it a mistake to triple-tie your shoelaces?

I thought he was nuts when he tossed the package of shoelaces on my chest. Wrong size. Way wrong. I sat up, holding the nasty thing by one corner. “What’s the idea?”

“I think it’s time to think about triple-tying your shoes.” His face remained bland, as if this was an everyday kind of thing.

“Triple-tie. One, two, three. That’s your idea?”

One eyebrow lifted. “For one day. You can do that, can’t you?”

“This is a mistake.” Fuck. I knew what would follow. Dares, double dares… “One day, huh?”

“Twenty-four hours. Start right now and go with it until we meet tomorrow.”

I groaned. “You know what you’re starting, don’t you? If I have to triple-tie my shoelaces—“

“Yes, yes. But just for one day. One, two, three; one, two, three.”

After staring at his placid mug for a full minute, I started untying my shoes. He held out his hand for my old, perfect-length black laces. “They’re just going in my desk drawer,” he said. A corner of his mouth rose and tightened, prelude to sarcasm if the past presaged the present.

I handed them over and opened his package, squinting. “These aren’t actually black.”

“Just this side of it. Scared?”

“What do you think?” I carefully laced them through the holes. Then the tying: one knot, double knot, triple knot. I rose, dizzy. “You’re a bastard.”

He smiled. “So are you. Have fun.” He stood and held out his hand. Nervous, I took it and pumped one, two, three. Weird.

He opened the door and I stepped through, nodding once, twice, thrice at Molly. “Same time tomorrow?” she chirped.

“Same time,” I murmured. “Same time, same time.”

She winked at me. “Looking good.”

I turned and walked away without another word. I stopped at the outer door. Crap. Was it going to work? I tapped my heels together three times, turned the knob back and forth three times, and cautiously opened the door. Okay so far. I stepped over the threshold, stepped back, stepped forward, stepped back, stepped forward. I stood there a moment, letting the door swing shut. Maybe I’d just stay put for the twenty-four hours. How bad could it be?

No good. Some lady wanted to enter the building and I had to step aside. Shit. Might as well go through with it. I’d probably end up in the morgue.

It was a hell of a day. Three pushes on the walk button to cross the street, three hops up and down both curbs. You get the idea. I glanced at the clock when I finally got home. Damn. It was the wrong time, the wrong time entirely. What was I supposed to do with myself?

I almost threw up washing my hands three times, and choosing three foods to eat for lunch was hell. God, how do you decide?

Three, three, three. All day. I couldn’t believe it when I finally got to bed. I wound three alarm clocks slowly, slowly. They all showed the wrong time. This was disastrous.

I showed up at the wrong time the next day as well. Molly gave me a grin. “Have a seat. He’ll be with you in a bit.”

I glanced at the chairs. Other people sat in those. I cast her a sidelong look. “He put you up to that?”

She giggled.

When I finally got in to see him, I was pleased to see him spreading a clean sheet on the chaise longue. Good.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“I lived.”

“I see that.” Arms akimbo, he stared into my eyes. “I told you three was a lucky number.”

“Not as lucky as seven,” I muttered as I stretched out. “What the hell am I going to do with all this free time?”