I already mentioned this story in the comments on Brooke's blog, but it bears repeating. I wish it was fiction, but sadly, it's all too true.

For reasons only known to her (trust me, I asked and she won't tell me) my mother thinks the song "Volare" is bad luck. Uttering the word "Volare" alone is bad luck; thus, she calls it "The Big V" or "The V song". This fear of the V song is so ingrained in me, I am wincing every time I write "Volare." (wince) See?

Her phobia precedes the late 1970's Plymouth model Volare, yet it factors into the scenario. See, Plymouth naturally used the Big V in its television commercials, causing my mother to scream, leap from the couch, and turn off the TV for 30 seconds or so until she was sure the song was gone.

Everyone in my family can recognize the song from the first two notes, since it causes such a violent reaction in Mom. My mother has exited stores and restaurants to avoid the Big V. She has abandoned oldies radio stations that she previously loved because they played the Big V. The fear of the Big V has become so strong in me, even though I know it is ridiculous, that I will program the song out when playing Italian music CD's.

If we "mocked the V song" by pointing out her insanity, the very next bad thing that happened to us would be blamed on the V. "See?" she would say, as she bandaged our skinned knees, "You mocked the Big V." My brother's 8th grade trip to Washington, D.C. was notable because the song came on the TV in his shared hotel room, and he had to resist the impulse to jump up and turn off the TV. I'm surprised the plane stayed in the air on the return trip.

I would go on, but I don't want to "Mock the Big V."