Peeling Potatoes — Episode 38 Friday the 13th, laundry mountains, and the quiet magic of ordinary days

Three. Two. One.

“We are live.”

“We are live.”

“Hello. Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Is it a good morning?”

There is a small pause before the answer comes. The kind of pause that happens when someone glances out of the window before speaking.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The sun is actually shining and I can hear the birds singing today.”

And with that gentle observation, Episode 38 of Peeling Potatoes begins. Sunlight. Birds. An ordinary morning. It is exactly the sort of beginning that has become familiar over the months — quiet, warm, and slightly curious, as if we have just sat down at the kitchen table and joined a conversation that was already in motion.

The Mayor, of course, cannot resist turning the moment into something slightly theatrical.

“Oh, you’ve got autumn. What are they singing? Rhapsody in Blue… or Just the Two of Us?”

“Just the Two of Us.”

“Music to my ears.”

But before the morning can properly unfold, a small complication appears. Both of them have prepared something. This is unusual. Extremely unusual.

“I think we have a problem this morning,” the Mayor says with mock seriousness. “I think we both want to start with something.”

They consider this for a moment.

Then the only sensible solution presents itself.

“You start yours,” he says. “And I start mine. And we see how the chaos unfolds.”

And so it begins.

Fruit Loop starts with a simple observation.

“Did you notice that today it’s Friday the 13th?”

The Mayor admits that the thought had crossed his mind earlier that morning, but he had not given it much attention.

“Are you superstitious?” she asks.

“That depends on the next sixty to seventy-five minutes,” he replies.

Generally speaking, no.

After all, there is already a black cat in the household named Friday, and she suffers doubly every year when Black Friday comes around. Being both black and named Friday is apparently quite enough bad luck for one creature.

Still, superstition has a way of sneaking into family life in curious ways.

The Mayor’s wife, for example, is not exactly superstitious, but she does have one rule. Christmas decorations must come down by the fifth of January. If they are not removed by that day, they must remain exactly where they are for the entire year.

This explains why something vaguely Christmassy was recently discovered hiding in the living room during a deep clean.

Fruit Loop begins listing the strange little customs many people grow up with. Do not walk under ladders. Cover mirrors during thunderstorms. And the one her grandmother always insisted upon:

“When you see an ambulance, you must hold your ear.”

No one is entirely sure why.

Given the Mayor’s occasional ambulance rides for medical reasons, this raises the slightly awkward question of how frequently he should be grabbing his ears in public.

But the most memorable superstition from Fruit Loop’s childhood involves ladders.

Her mother once explained that walking underneath a ladder could cause a remarkable transformation.

“If you are a girl, you turn into a boy. If you are a boy, you turn into a girl.”

Naturally, this demanded scientific investigation.

“We walked underneath the ladder a gazillion times,” Fruit Loop explains.

Nothing happened.

But the seven-year-old research team had already prepared a backup plan.

“If it worked, we would just walk back again.”

The Mayor pauses before replying.

“I’m bloody glad it didn’t work.”

Because the world would clearly be a poorer place without Fruit Loop exactly the way she is.

The conversation drifts from childhood superstition into the origin of Friday the 13th itself.

Fruit Loop explains that the story goes back to Norse mythology.

There was once a banquet in Valhalla. Twelve gods were invited to celebrate together. Everything was peaceful until a thirteenth guest arrived uninvited. The newcomer was a trickster god, jealous and angry at being excluded from the feast.

Through deception, he caused Baldur — the beloved god of light and joy — to be struck with a magical spear made from mistletoe.

Baldur died instantly.

Chaos followed.

And from that moment onward, the number thirteen became associated with misfortune.

“Bit of a party pooper really,” the Mayor remarks.

Still, there is something oddly comforting about the story. Even gods, it seems, have dreadful days.

The Mayor remembers something from his younger years in London. He once worked at the Hilton on Park Lane, a twenty-eight-storey hotel overlooking Buckingham Palace. Unlike many buildings, this hotel actually had a thirteenth floor.

And on that floor was a room with a particularly memorable number.

Room 1313.

Hotel staff had strict instructions whenever guests were assigned to that floor.

They were to ask a careful question.

“Are you superstitious?”

Because the last thing a hotel wants is a guest discovering they are sleeping in room 1313 after unpacking their suitcase.

At this point the Mayor decides that something important must happen.

Fruit Loop is asked to raise her right hand.

She immediately recognises the format.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she says.

Harry Potter.

But the Mayor has a different oath in mind.

Slowly, with great ceremony, Fruit Loop repeats after him.

“I, Fruit Loop, the one and only, solemnly promise to have fun.”

“To seek fun.”

“And when fun cannot immediately be found… to invent it.”

The oath continues.

A promise to notice the magic hiding in ordinary days.

A promise to ride the occasional unicorn.

A promise to laugh at the chaos of life and to remember that even regular horses can sparkle.

Finally, it concludes with a pledge to curiosity, strong coffee, and the noble art of peeling potatoes while discovering the meaning of life.

“So help me God,” the Mayor says solemnly, “the Pineapple, and all the unicorns wandering quietly through the laundry mountains of this world.”

It is ridiculous.

It is joyful.

And somehow it also contains a small piece of truth.

Because beneath the humour of the conversation lies a deeper question.

Fruit Loop had written earlier in the week about the small chaos of daily life. Laundry piling up. Rain arriving just after washing has been hung outside. Spongebob playing endlessly in the background. Legs aching after Zumba.

Yet even in the middle of that chaos, she still manages to notice small sparks of beauty.

The Mayor asks the obvious question.

“How do you do it?”

The answer is simple.

You look for the good part.

If it rains, the rain is good.

If the laundry cannot be done today, then today becomes an opportunity to do something else.

If life is chaotic, tomorrow might not be.

And if tomorrow also brings chaos, then that is tomorrow’s problem.

Inspired by Fruit Loop’s reflections, the Mayor spent the week reorganising his house.

Talking to furniture.

Creating zones.

Clearing surfaces.

Rediscovering spaces that had slowly filled with clutter over time.

Something unexpected happened during this process.

The mundane tasks began to feel different.

There was energy in them.

A quiet sense of accomplishment.

And suddenly even ordinary domestic routines felt meaningful.

It led him to a thought.

Perhaps a unicorn is not something extraordinary at all.

Perhaps a unicorn is simply someone who notices the extraordinary hidden inside the ordinary.

Fruit Loop agrees.

“Yes.”

Together they invent a new device.

The Unicorn Magic Detector.

A small machine that quietly beeps whenever someone does something kind, patient, or thoughtful during an ordinary day.

It might beep when a husband washes dishes without being asked.

Or sweeps the floor.

Or changes the bedsheets.

It might even beep when children pick up their toys voluntarily.

Fruit Loop admits her detector might remain rather quiet.

But the idea itself carries a gentle truth.

Magic often appears in the smallest acts.

Eventually the conversation returns to one of its favourite metaphors.

Potatoes.

When you peel a potato, the Mayor asks, does it become more itself?

Fruit Loop smiles, remembering the earlier conversation.

A potato can become anything.

French fries.

Mashed potatoes.

Casserole.

Even vodka.

Its destiny depends on what you turn it into.

Perhaps people are not so different.

And so the episode slowly comes to its close.

The Mayor asks one final question.

If the unicorn Fruit Loop could give a message to all the ordinary horses stumbling through life, what would it be?

Her answer is gentle and practical.

“Hang in there.”

Take a deep breath.

If it will not matter in five minutes, do not worry about it.

If it will not matter tomorrow, let it go.

Laundry might matter eventually, when the underwear runs out.

But that is tomorrow’s problem.

And perhaps that is the quiet lesson of Episode 38.

Life will always produce laundry mountains, chaotic mornings, late school runs, and days when everything seems slightly out of control.

When those moments arrive, there is a simple remedy.

Raise your right hand.

Say the Oath to Fun.

Promise to seek fun.

Promise to invent it when necessary.

Promise to notice the magic hiding in ordinary days.

Because even regular horses sparkle sometimes.

And somewhere out there, wandering quietly through the laundry mountains of this world, the unicorns are still watching. ✨