From the journal of Johnny Klebb, 26, of Fruitdish, TN

I am now a believer. Deep down, I always supposed I was, but after this past weekend there is no doubt that I am sincerely of the opinion that certain people out there can see.  I believe in the power of the Psychic.

Fortune tellers, soothsayers, mystics, astrologers, prophets, diviners, seers, whatever you want to call them; I now believe in them.

I was at the Fruitdish County Fair on Saturday, walking hand in hand with my lovely fiancee,  Dolores, when the two of us came upon a heavyset woman who knew how to put away a pound or two of gnocchi. She was sitting behind a card table beneath a banner that read, “Madam Boufrey, World Renowned Psychic.” Dolores thought it would be a wise $10 investment to have Madam Boufrey look into our future.

So we sat down and this gypsy lady took out a deck of cards and shuffled them. “What do you want to know?” she asked in a Hungarian accent.

Dolores was about to answer when I said, “You tell us. If you can truly see, you tell us what the cards say.”

Beads of sweat appeared on Madam Boufrey’s upper lip.  “Really?” she asked.  “You don’t want to speak to a dead relative?”

“Tell us if a dead relative wants to speak to us,” I said.

“Why don’t you give me the dead relative’s name and I’ll let you know,” she said.  “I’m willing to bet I can conjure up a dead uncle or grandmother for another twenty bucks.”

Dolores piped in.  “We’re about to get married,” she said gleefully.  “Can you tell us what the future holds in store?”

That pissed me off.  Madam Boufrey looked at me and grinned.  Dolores had handed her a gift on a silver platter.  It was all she needed to know.  Madam Boufrey placed a jack of spades in front of us.

“Well,” she said as her Hungarian accent began to drift into a backyard southern inflection.  “It says here you two are engaged.”

“My Gawd!” Dolores cried.  “You’re right!”

“You just told her that,” I sighed.

Boufrey placed a seven of hearts in front of us.  “Says here you two will be married shortly before hundreds of friends and family,” she said.

“That’s true!” Dolores shrieked.  “What about kids? Will we have kids?”

A three of diamonds was slapped before us.  “You will have three children,” Madam Boufrey exclaimed.

“Boys or girls?” Dolores cried.

“One of each,” said Boufrey.  I rolled my eyes.

“A big house?” asked Dolores.  Nine of clubs.

“Standard four bedroom, two and a half bath,” said the psychic.  “Finished basement in the first two years.”  Ten of spades.  “Central air.”

“A dog?” Dolores squawked.

Four of hearts.  “Yes,” said Madam Boufrey.  “A golden retriever named Harold.”

“I hate dogs,” frowned Dolores.

Six of diamonds.  “Sorry,” said Madam Boufrey.  “That was your neighbor’s.”

I had had enough.  “Come on, honey,” I said as I stood.

Just then Madam Boufrey unleashed an ace of spades.  “Sit down,” she said.  “I am not finished. It says here that one of you will cheat on the other within the first five years of your marriage.”

“What?” cried Dolores.  I sat down.  Now this was getting interesting.

An ace of clubs.  “A Betty Jackson,” said Madam Boufrey.

I was stunned.  Betty Jackson was my boss’ daughter!

Dolores turned to me.  “Isn’t Betty Mr. Jackson’s daughter?” she asked me as her face turned beet red.

I didn’t know what to say.  I had only met Betty once or twice.  She had a nice smile and possibly a nice rack but I never thought anything of it.  I suppose in five years things could change between Dolores and myself; but with Betty Jackson?  Perhaps this Madam Boufrey had the “gift”.  “She is,” I said.  “I’ve only met her once or twice.  Couldn’t even tell you what she looked like.”

As Dolores was about to unleash hell, Madam Boufrey turned over an ace of hearts.  “Oh, look at this,” she said. She looked at Dolores.  “You’re the one who will cheat on your husband with Betty Jackson.”

Dolores blushed.  “Aw,” she said.  “You’re not a real psychic, are you?”

“Why’s that?”

“I already cheated on Johnny with Betty Jackson,” she said.  “And you couldn’t tell!”