Saying that if you break a mirror, you get seven years of bad luck (shared with other cultures)

[Scene: A cozy Copenhagen apartment. Rain patters softly against the window. Emma is sweeping up shards of a broken mirror, looking distressed. Lars enters, holding two mugs of coffee.]

Lars:
Whoa, what happened here? Did Thor strike your mirror with Mjölnir or something?

Emma: (groaning)
Ugh, don’t joke, Lars. I broke the bathroom mirror this morning. Seven years. Seven years of bad luck, just like that.

Lars:
You mean seven minutes of cleanup and maybe a trip to IKEA. Come on, Emma, you don’t really believe that old myth, do you?

Emma: (nodding solemnly)
Absolutely. It’s not just a myth. It’s a warning. The last time I broke a mirror, I got food poisoning, my bike got stolen, and I spilled coffee on my MacBook — all within three weeks. That’s not coincidence, that’s cursed!

Lars: (chuckling)
Emma, that’s just a really unlucky three weeks. Correlation doesn’t mean causation. You probably had dodgy sushi, left your bike unlocked again, and balanced your coffee like a daredevil.

Emma:
But that’s how it starts! It’s like the universe punishes you for messing with reflections. Mirrors are powerful. You know, in ancient times, people believed they were portals to the soul.

Lars:
Sure, and in ancient times, people also thought thunder was the gods bowling. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t upgrade our understanding. There’s no scientific mechanism linking broken mirrors to bad luck. It’s just… glass.

Emma:
You scientists are so literal. It’s not about the glass. It’s the symbolism. When a mirror breaks, it’s like your soul fractures too. That’s why the Romans believed in the seven years—because they thought it took that long for the soul to regenerate.

Lars: (sipping coffee)
Fascinating. And yet, modern medicine can heal a broken leg in six weeks, but your soul needs seven years? Sounds like it needs better health insurance.

Emma: (laughing despite herself)
Okay, that was funny. But seriously, I can’t help feeling anxious. It’s like this weird weight in my stomach.

Lars:
That’s anxiety, not prophecy. Superstitions are mental shortcuts — ways our brain tries to make sense of randomness. When something bad happens after a superstition, you remember it. But all the good days that follow a broken mirror? You ignore them.

Emma:
Hmm. I guess I have had decent years after that last mirror incident. I even got a promotion.

Lars:
Exactly. Let me put it this way — if bad luck was real because of broken mirrors, IKEA would be the site of mass catastrophe.

Emma: (grinning)
You might have a point there. Those display mirrors fall over all the time.

Lars:
And yet, somehow, life goes on. Look, I get it — rituals and beliefs can feel comforting. But don’t let them control you. You’re smart. If anything, this is a great time to prove the superstition wrong.

Emma:
How? By walking under ladders and opening umbrellas indoors?

Lars:
Maybe don’t push your luck just yet. But hey — instead of mourning your mirror, let’s make it a symbol of fresh starts. Seven great years ahead.

Emma: (playfully dramatic)
Only if you swear to help me if my toaster explodes next week.

Lars:
Deal. And I’ll bring backup coffee — just in case your soul needs extra caffeine to regenerate.

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[They laugh and clink coffee mugs, the broken mirror pieces glinting harmlessly in the bin nearby.]