Setting: A cozy Russian kitchen. Snow falls gently outside the window. Irina is preparing vegetables for a stew. Misha, her longtime friend, sits at the kitchen table, sipping tea and scrolling through his phone.
Irina: (chopping onions) Misha, can you hand me that small knife next to you?
Misha: (reaches for the knife) Sure. (Starts to hand it directly to her)
Irina: (gasps, pulls her hand back) No! Don’t hand it to me like that!
Misha: (freezes mid-motion) What? Why?
Irina: You never hand someone a knife directly. It means you’ll fight with them later. Just… put it on the table.
Misha: (raises an eyebrow, then smirks) Irina, we’ve been friends since we were five. I once saw you eat a raw onion on a dare. If that didn’t start a fight between us, I doubt passing a knife will.
Irina: (serious) I’m telling you, it’s bad luck. My babushka used to say, “Give a knife, get a fight.” Every time I forgot and handed one to my cousin, we ended up arguing. Every. Time.
Misha: And every time you don’t argue after not handing over a knife, you count that as proof the superstition is working?
Irina: Exactly!
Misha: That’s called confirmation bias, you know. You remember the times the superstition ‘worked’ and forget the times nothing happened.
Irina: You and your science terms again. Why can’t you just respect ancient wisdom?
Misha: I do respect tradition. I just like to ask why we believe things. Maybe once, someone handed a knife badly and sliced their finger, and it got turned into a story about conflict to warn people. Makes sense, right?
Irina: Hmm… possible. But still, it gives me the chills. Like walking under a ladder. Or seeing a black cat.
Misha: Poor black cats. Just walking around, being adorable, and getting blamed for everything from spilled milk to national disasters.
Irina: (laughs) Okay, that was a bit dramatic. But you get my point. These beliefs exist for a reason.
Misha: I’m not saying they came from nowhere. Just that we should question if they still make sense. Like… do you also throw salt over your shoulder if you spill it?
Irina: Only if I want to avoid bad luck!
Misha: Right. And I say, clean it up and move on with life. No need to get salt in your eye and bad luck.
Irina: Look, I know it’s silly. But it’s kind of… comforting. Like a little ritual. Makes me feel like I’m warding off chaos in the universe.
Misha: That’s fair. Everyone needs their coping mechanisms. Mine is logical reasoning. Yours is… not stabbing me by accident and blaming destiny.
Irina: (grinning) Exactly. So next time, just put the knife on the table, and we’ll both be safe—from conflict and accidental surgery.
Misha: Deal. But only if you promise not to hex me with spilled pepper or whatever’s next.
Irina: No promises, Misha. Depends on how rude you are during dinner.
Misha: (laughs) Noted. I’ll behave. Now, hand me that spoon—carefully, of course.
[They both laugh, the tension gone, and the kitchen fills with the smell of home-cooked comfort and old friendship.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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