Catastrophe Averted.

The photo for today's fortune came from me, and I think I've nearly short-circuited the entire system.

It all started out innocently enough, with a simple idea of taking my beautiful wife out to a swanky Chinese food restaurant. We had some amazing spring rolls and probably the best crab rangoon I've ever tasted. I mean that truly. This was followed by an incredible main course, and as is always the custom, the fortune cookies arrived with our check.

There they were. Two innocent little fortune cookies looking up at us. My wife asked, "Is tomorrow's Marketing Cookie going to be from you?" I chuckled and quickly realized that the last time I opened and wrote a fortune cookie from me was last May. It occurred to me that I have been writing fortunes from other people's cookies for an entire year and haven't written one from me ever since. Perhaps it was something in the tea that clouded my judgment, but I then declared to my wife that I shall participate in the Marketing Cookie project too, if only for just one day.

I broke the seal on the cookie packaging and slid the cookie from its protective cellophane cocoon. Something didn't seem right. I looked up at my wife, seeking her permission to proceed. She squinted her left eye and slowly nodded with steady assurance. I nodded back. Next, I took the delicate cookie crustacean in my hands. I sensed its innocence and yet somehow it felt unusually heavy. Ignoring my trepidation, I cleanly cracked it open to reveal what would be my fortune.

It was dark in the restaurant, so I lifted the slip of paper into better light. Upon reading its words, I suddenly realized I had just broken a capital crowd-sourcing rule. If I am to truly give my project to the world, as I have done for over a year, who am I to interject my own influence? This is probably worse than not writing a cookie at all. Who the heck am I to steal the stage away from some cookie fan who has gone through the trouble of sending me a photo of their fortune? I have over fifty people waiting in the queue. They are patiently awaiting the Marketing Cookie limelight, and in this instant, I have perhaps messed up the construct of the entire project.

What was I thinking?

Putting myself in front of my fans means I've broken the most important rule of all! This is way worse than crossing the beams, mixing oil and water, sitting too close to the TV, or stepping on a crack in the sidewalk. Peeing in the pool or wearing white after Labor Day are nothing compared to this! Double-dipping chips in the salsa? Meh. Mere child's play. Not putting mustard on a hotdog? Cheering for the Yankees at Fenway? Come on. These are just lousy misdemeanors compared to what I have done.

Lucky for us, the Fortune Cookie gods intervened. They saved the entire project from my ill-conceived idea of participation. Yes! They somehow made sure that my idiotic idea of opening a cookie from me, with the intent of writing something from myself, will not happen today. I shall heed the message I received as perhaps my only warning. I hereby promise, for as long as cookie fans send me photos of their fortunes, I shall never return to my folly nor attempt such silly foolishness again. Let's just agree that Today's Marketing Cookie never happened. We will immediately put this mistake behind us and do as the fortune says, "Fortune not found: Abort, Retry, Ignore?"