[Scene: A cozy apartment in Sydney. Rain pours outside. Liam is unpacking groceries while Ethan shakes water off his umbrella near the door.]
Ethan: (grumbling) Mate, it’s absolutely bucketing down out there. I’ll just open this up to let it dry.
Liam: (gasps and nearly drops a loaf of bread) Whoa! Ethan, don’t you dare open that umbrella inside!
Ethan: (pauses mid-action) What, this? I’m not summoning a cyclone, Liam. It’s just wet.
Liam: You’ll bring bad luck into the house! Everyone knows you never open an umbrella indoors. My grandma swore it invites disaster.
Ethan: Disaster? What kind — lightning, leaky roofs, or maybe a plague of soggy socks?
Liam: Don’t joke, man! I’m serious. The last time I saw someone do that, their car broke down the next day. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Ethan: (laughs) So… you’re saying a Toyota Corolla’s engine failure was caused by an umbrella drying session? That’s quite the meteorological chain reaction.
Liam: You laugh now, but these things go way back. People didn’t just make them up for fun. There’s wisdom in old traditions, you know.
Ethan: True, but a lot of old traditions came from practical reasons that don’t apply anymore. Back in the day, umbrellas had metal spokes and spring mechanisms. If you opened one indoors, you could break a lamp or poke someone’s eye out. Hence, “bad luck.”
Liam: Still sounds risky. Maybe the universe has a way of punishing people who ignore old rules.
Ethan: So the universe is up there saying, “That bloke opened an umbrella indoors—send him a flat tyre”? Bit harsh, don’t you think?
Liam: It’s not about punishment! It’s… energy. Negative energy. You’re letting it circulate inside the house.
Ethan: Right. Negative energy. From nylon fabric and aluminum rods.
Liam: You don’t have to believe it, but I’ve seen things. My cousin Mel opened one inside once, and the next week she slipped on wet tiles and fractured her wrist.
Ethan: Or — hear me out — she slipped because of physics, not fate. Wet surface, low friction, gravity doing its job. Simple as that.
Liam: You’ve always got a scientific explanation for everything, don’t you?
Ethan: I try. It’s worked so far. I’ve opened umbrellas inside dozens of times, and look — still breathing, no curses, no lightning bolts, no exes coming back to haunt me.
Liam: (grinning) Maybe you’ve just been lucky.
Ethan: Or maybe luck has nothing to do with it. You know, superstitions probably helped people feel they had control in uncertain times. It’s comforting to think, “If I avoid this one thing, I’ll stay safe.”
Liam: Yeah… maybe. I guess when everything feels unpredictable, even small rituals give you some peace of mind.
Ethan: That’s fair. But maybe we can find new rituals that make sense — like checking the weather app before leaving home instead of trusting umbrella karma.
Liam: (chuckles) So you’re saying “science” is the new superstition?
Ethan: Only if you believe in evidence with blind faith. (grins)
Liam: Alright, Mr. Rationality, keep your logic. But do me a favor and dry that umbrella outside. I’d rather not tempt fate today — the power already flickered once this morning.
Ethan: Fine, fine. I’ll play along. But if we run out of luck, I’m blaming your leaky roof, not my umbrella.
Liam: Deal. And if something weird happens tonight, I’m calling your scientific hotline.
Ethan: (laughs) Sure thing, mate. I’ll answer with a weather report and a reminder that gravity’s still undefeated.
[They both laugh as Ethan heads to the balcony to dry his umbrella, rain still tapping rhythmically on the windows. The room feels lighter — a balance between belief and reason, superstition and science.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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