I lost my innocence to a fortune cookie. Just as my father began to pressure me to finish my plate of chow mein, I unfurled that little slip of paper, which told me: Believe it can be done. So following its advice and giving in to my father’s demands, I chowed hard and I chowed fast. I was believing in Chef Chu, a mysterious deity.

So I struggled, chewing quickly and recalling my ancestors back in Egypt—the ones who built pyramids and ate nothing more than crackers. I finished my plate with triumph, but just after, the seas parted. My stomach erupted like a volcano, spewing out partially digested Chinese food.

Ever since then I have never trusted a fortune. That is why I would never have mine told by a psychic.

But because I would never do it, I had to do it anyway. I went to a psychic last week and let her read my palm.

Now I know it’s not fair to stereotype and to say that all fortune tellers are wrinkly, old ladies with silvery hair, wrapped in blankets. It’s really not fair to make assumptions. But I met my fortune teller and she really was a wrinkly, old lady with silvery hair, wrapped up in a wool blanket.

I admit I was reluctant to show her my hands. Because no matter how much of that rose-scented hand lotion I put on, they still peel. I think if I were ever a hand model, it would be for a Halloween catalog.

But despite my concerns, I showed her my palms. She looked at them as if she were in a deep trance and then began to recite an infuriating series of observations about my life. She told me that I had “problems with confidence,” and I clenched my ugly fist. Then she said I “take things too personally,” and I almost got up to leave. Then she told me I was “temperamental.”

She gave me advice. She told me to escape the negativity in my life, which I found impossible as long as the San Francisco 49ers still suck.

She read on and I really did not understand where she was coming from with all of this criticism. Were the creases of my palm forming a maze that I just could not solve? I left the room scratching my head.

I have never been good at puzzles, and from where this woman got her psychic senses is a puzzle I will never solve. But there is one thing I do know, that it can take some outside forces to prompt you to reflect on how you live your life.

So give it a shot. Reflect. And if you ever want to examine my hands, go ahead. You can feel them, smell them, taste them, whatever. But be careful — I’m temperamental, and who knows what those hands can do?