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As an animal communicator I get clairvoyant “hits” all the time.  It’s been happening long enough that I apply them confidently to my work.  My private life?  A different story.

We were looking for a used bicycle for our child.  A local man had a nice bike at a good price, but it wasn’t quite right.  Then we found the same bike with one speed instead of 18.  But this one was an hour away.  The seller wanted $20 more, too.

“Hmph,” my gut said, “do you really want to drive that far?”

I looked around.  “.  .  .  sorry, what?”

Excellent condition, the ad read.  Hardly used.  But the spelling was off and the seller had not bothered with punctuation.

“Careless,” my gut sniffed.

In both cases the bike was officially $199 brand new, but, “we paid $499,” the ad insisted.

“$499?” my gut railed at me.  “Pay attention!”

My husband called to ask if we could see the bike.  I looked up.  “Were they friendly?”  I asked.   “No,” he said, flatly.

You can be unfriendly over a 25-cent cake pan at a garage sale, but that’s my limit.   My gut rolled its eyes, extravagantly.  “We don’t do business with unfriendly people,”  it said, hands on hips.  It stared.  I shrugged and went back to my book.

The day before viewing the much-vaunted bike my gut tapped me on the shoulder.    “Stolen,”  it whispered.  Turns out my husband’s gut had had the same thought.  Stolen?   Huh, I thought.  Could that be true?

How many more signs did we need?

Well, a few, as it turns out.  So we drove two hours, round-trip, to stare at a dirty, noisy bike with under-inflated tires that made it hard for our daughter to test.  The man was dressed in high-end, fashionable and expensive-looking clothing and shoes.  Everything was the same color, even his hair.

He told us they’d taken a chance and bought the child a very expensive thing, but it didn’t get used and they weren’t gonna make that mistake again, uh-uh.   His tone was resentful.  He lifted the bike in and out of a brand new Escalade with temporary tags.

“Does this guy even have a kid?” my gut groaned.  I stared at the seller.  Wow, I thought.  This just feels off.

Even after all that, we set out to buy the bike.  My husband was desperate, so he tried to barter but the seller was having none of it.  “We paid so much for this bike,” he insisted.  He shook his head mournfully and lifted it toward the SUV.

“Run away!” my gut insisted.  “Save yourself!

We walked away, then my husband turned back.  We’d just driven an hour to look at an obviously well-used bike that needed a tune-up and couldn’t be ridden with any discernment because the tires were low.   Surely the seller could have bartered with us.

Nope.

Then my husband told the man that, by the way, the retail on that bike was $199 brand new, not $499.  The seller stared at him.  “Yeah,” he said, “well, we paid a lot for shipping.

My gut snickered.  That was a good one!

We got a free pass that day, but the message was clear.   Being clairvoyant isn’t something I do for work.   It’s something I am.  I can use it every day, or I can ignore it at my peril.

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