I have a good-luck skirt. It’s a black, high-waisted, super-tight Forever 21 skirt that buttons up the front. I think it cost $14. When I tried it on in the store, I solemnly swear I heard the angels sing, and a heavenly light beamed down from above and lit up the dressing-room mirror like a disco ball. I’ve had this amazing skirt for five years, and it has never failed me. Job interviews, first dates, public-speaking gigs, just running errands—there is no occasion that is not the right occasion for my good-luck skirt. Good things always happen when I wear it: I was asked to come back for a second interview for a job I wanted, a girl called me back after our first date, and I found $20 on the ground on the way to work! Buttons have fallen off and I’ve kicked the hem out twice, but I keep this skirt alive by regularly sending it to my mom in Phoenix, who fixes it for me and mails it back with a note telling me to be more careful with “such a cheap skirt.” I use my good luck skirt sparingly so as to not wear out its powers, and I am actually nervous to talk about it publicly, because what if I’ve jinxed it now?